


It Was Either This or Azkaban

by notadumbblonde3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Azkaban, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Grimmauld Place is a nice place to live, Magical Tattoos, Minor Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant, Please Forgive me, Pregnancy, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Soft Hermione Granger, Tags to be added if i remember, i haven’t read the books for four years, marriage law, written by a brit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notadumbblonde3/pseuds/notadumbblonde3
Summary: Post-war, magical births are dropping and the ministry enacts a marriage law to try and convince people to have children. Hermione is paired with ex-death eater and potential reformed member of society, Thorfinn Rowle. She is not happy. Who would be?But when a wrongfully-accused name comes to light, Hermione works with her new fiancé to get them out of prison.A lighthearted Thormione tale with mostly fluff and a hint of drama :)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Thorfinn Rowle, Theodore Nott/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 25
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger was not happy.

That was an understatement.

She was furious.

Interns and bosses alike dodged out of her way as she stormed through the ministry, hair flying behind her and robe following suit. Her wand was clutched tightly in her hand, but it wasn’t like she was going to stun anyone or anything. Not unless they got in her way.

She barely noticed Shacklebolt’s secretary trying to stop her entering until the tiny little woman gave an insistent tug on her arm.

“What?” she said sharply. The woman frowned, “Miss, Minister Shacklebolt is in an important meeting with-”

“With Harry Potter, I know,” Hermione said, “I’ve come to speak to them, because both of them are avoiding me.”

Hermione swore she heard the secretary mutter ‘obviously’, but she released the hold on her arm and let Hermione through.

“A MARRIAGE LAW?” yelled Hermione, “Are we in the 16th century or something?”

Kingsley Shacklebolt flinched and glanced over at Harry, who put his hands up in mock defense. Kingsley was seated behind his desk, looking rather regal in his dark blue robes. Harry sat in one of the beige chairs, wearing suspiciously muggle looking clothing. He must have been visiting Dudley again. After Vernon’s death, Dudley and Harry had reconciled, and weren’t on bad terms at all.

“It’s for the best, Hermione,” Shacklebolt said, “You’ve seen the numbers.”

“Lower your wand, Hermione, you look as if you’re trying to kill me,” Harry muttered.

“And give me a reason why I shouldn’t?” Hermione huffed, but she dropped her wand and sat down in the chair next to Harry.

“Nice to see you too.” Harry crossed his arms and leant back.

“You’re the ones who have been avoiding me,” Hermione pointed out, “Both of you,” she added, glaring daggers at Kingsley. 

“Hermione, the marriage law is because the Wizarding Population is at great risk. Hogwarts admission rates are the lowest they’ve been in years.”

Hermione knew it was true, on her last visit to McGonagall’s for their bi-weekly tea, she’d said that unlike the 50 something students she joined Hogwarts with, there was only 26 in the new first year group. Seemingly, 8 years post-war had affected the magical birth boom.

“But why now?” she said, “Why not straight after the war?”

“Do you think people - no, the Wizengamot - took lightly to being told who they had to marry and have children with?” Harry said, “And also, the world has been a bit tied up chasing down the last few dangerous criminals.”

“Yaxley was put in prison fifteen months ago, Harry,” Hermione said coldly, “You put him there.”

Harry shrugged and turned his attention back to Kingsley, who was shuffling papers.

“Ah!” he said, brandishing a small cream letter, “Your match!”

“I already know who my match is, Kings,” Hermione said, cocking an eyebrow, “I complained about him last week.”

“Who is it?” Harry said, taking the paper from Kingsley. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, “A big, bad Death Eater.”

“Technically it’s an Ex Death Eater,” Kingsley said mildly, “Reformed one, too.”

Hermione ran her hands through her hair. She knew that. She’d been the one who campaigned for his reformation, alongside dozens of others who she deemed were fit for reintroduction into magical society. After, of course, a while acclimatising to muggle living. She’d put that in specifically to let the pureblooded bigots know just how normal muggles were, and to her utter surprise, it had gone down well in the Wizengamot. She had been told, when her bill finally went through, that they would serve a sentence in the muggle world, with parole of course, and then eventually would be means tested to come back to Wizarding society. Some, such as Blaise Zabini, had already expressed a preference to stay in the muggle world, stripped of magic, but living a life they liked. She personally believed Zabini had knocked someone up and couldn’t get out of it.

“I just don’t see why I have to marry a Death Eater. Why not someone live Neville?”

“Because it will look best for the whole thing, Hermione,” Harry said, “If you, a war hero, can live with a redeemed Death Eater, then why can’t Marjorie from Centaur Relations?”

“Fiiiine,” Hermione dragged out the word, “At least he’s mildly close to my age.”

“He’s not bad looking, either,” Harry piped up.

“That’s because you’ve got a thing for blondes.”

“Probably.”

Kingsley coughed, “He’s being brought round from the Floo in a few minutes. You need to fill out some forms with him.”

Hermione straightened her skirt and smoothed down her blouse, “How do I look?”

“You look fine, Hermione,” Harry said, “Now go meet your future husband.”

“Fine,” she said, “I have condemned myself to my fate.”

“No need to be that dramatic, Princess.”

She spun around quickly, wand pointed at the voice. A burly Thorfinn Rowle was standing in the doorway, hands up in a similar position Harry was in before. He was accompanied by a mousy looking Ministry worker who looked like he’d much rather be anywhere else than with the brute. His hands weren’t tied, he wasn’t restrained - not like some simple cuffs would stop that big of a man - and the Ministry worker’s wand was down by his side, not pointing into his neck. She sighed, he was supposed to be fully redeemed, wasn’t he? It’s not like he was being dragged kicking and screaming. This was his invitation back into the Wizarding World.

“Rowle,” she said simply, “Let’s go.”

The Ministry worker looked at Kingsley, who nodded, and the worker scuttled off. Hermione gave one quick look back at Harry.

“I’ll owl you,” he said, “Promise.”

“Mmm, last time you said that, you didn’t for two weeks and I went over to yours and found you in the middle of shagging-”

“Miss Granger,” Kingsley said, “Mr Potter. I’ve got a 3’o’clock. Do you mind?”

Harry grinned and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“C’mon then,” she said to the silent man, “We’ve got forms to fill in.”

They sat, ten minutes later in the corridor as Hermione furiously scribbed on the millions and trillions of forms she was handed by a red-headed Ministry worker who winked at Rowle as she walked away.

‘Honestly,’ thought Hermione, ‘Doesn’t she know she’s handing us marriage forms?’

Rowle had been silent for most of it, sitting and cracking his knuckles casually. It worried Hermione, just a tad. Yes, he was without a wand, but surely a man of that size could pick her up and throw her away with little to no effort, if he liked. 

_ That could be nice,  _ a voice in her head said,  _ throwing you onto the- _

_ No, no, no, no, no,  _ another voice answered,  _ Shut up. _

Hermione flicked through yet another ridiculous form and groaned.

“C’mon Granger,” Rowle teased, “Thought you loved papers and forms.”

“Not when they’re ridiculous ones that I didn’t approve,” she said under her breath, “Damm Ernie Macmillan. I’m going to get Malfoy on his arse.”

Rowle sat down on one of the brown chairs in the hallway and put his head in his hands, “How long is this going to take? I’m hungry.”

“You sound like Ron,” Hermione said as she sat in the chair next to him.

“I do  _ not  _ sound like Weasley.”

“Yes you do- Really? Last known location of offender?”

“Right here-”

“Offender?” Hermione repeated, shaking her head. He wasn’t an offender, he hadn’t been for 8 years. He had been safely locked up in the little town of Easling, probably luring in all the ladies. She scrunched her nose up at that thought. She did  _ not _ think Rowle was hot, or fit, or any of the above.

“Date of birth?” Hermione looked up at Rowle after a few moments.

“May 3rd 1973.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, scribbling away frantically, “You were in 7th when I was in 1st.”

Rowle nodded, silent.

“Location of suppressor?” she asked, “What’s a -”

“Left collarbone,” Rowle responded, in the same tone he’d answered the last, as if it was a perfectly normal question. When she looked up at him, bemused, he pulled down the collar of his shirt. The golden tattoo was about the size of a galleon, and sat on his collarbone, shining. It almost made her want to reach out and touch it. Her fingers lifted, as if they were going to, but a raised eyebrow from Rowle made her drop them like hot cakes.

“What is it?”

“Magic suppressor tattoo,” Rowle said, “I thought you’d know.”

“Magic… suppressor?”

“Yes, Princess, it suppresses my magic.”

Rolling her eyes, she signed her name at the bottom of the clipboard, “I figured. But why? You don’t have a wand.”

“Wandless magic?” Rowle said in a lighthearted tone, “Don’t tell me the Brightest Witch of her Time can’t do wandless magic.”

“Course I can,” Hermione snapped, “Didn’t think you could though.”

Rowle placed his hand on his heart in mock hurt, “Well now I can’t do magic ever again.”

“Wandless magic,” Hermione started to stand up. Rowle reached out - he had mighty good reflexes - and grabbed her arm, pulling her back down again.

“No magic. Ever again. I’m a dangerous criminal, remember?” He said in a mocking tone.

“That wasn’t the plan,” Hermione said under her breath, “That was never the plan.”

“What?” Rowle said, as she handed him the clipboard to sign.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, “You done?”

Rowle signed the forms with a flourish, before handing them back to the redhead, who was still making eyes at him.

“Well c’mon, wifey,” he said, “We’re married.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, “Not quite. Excited already?”

“Of course, Princess.”

God, she hated that nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo!! My first fic!  
> Now I personally think Thorfinn/Hermione is a criminally underrated pairing, and a lot of fics I find are either not finished, or a bit too deep and dark for my liking. So I wrote my own. 
> 
> pls review it’ll make me smile ;)


	2. Chapter Two

Rowle stumbled slightly as they arrived on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. 

“You alright?” Hermione said.

“Been a while since I went speeding through air, Princess,” he said, standing up to his full height - which was a  _ lot  _ taller than Hermione, “Apparation is a weird thing to get used to.”

“It took me a while to master it,” she confessed, “Harry and Ron got it way faster than me.”

As she unlocked the door, Rowle hummed, “How are the Golden Trio nowadays? Did I break up a marriage-in-the-making between you and Weasley?”

Hermione scoffed, “I’m only 26, thank you very much. There was no marriage, no engagement,” she dropped her bag in the hallway and started removing her shoes, “No relationship at all.”

“Oh,” Rowle simply said, following her lead and removing her shoes too, “Odd.”

“Not really,” she scowled, “He had knocked up Lavender Brown by the time we were 20.”

“Still bitter, Princess?”

“No,” she said, wandering through to the kitchen and putting the kettle on, “Not really. I was never destined to be a broodmare to redheaded children. Lavender is happy, Ron is happy. I’m happy.”

There was silence between the two of them, as only the kettle’s whistling filled the air.

“We had bets, you know,” Rowle finally said, “On which one you were shagging.”

“And which one did you bet on?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she poured the tea, “How do you take it?”

“Milk, no sugar,” Rowle responded, “And I knew you never liked Weasley. I had bets on you and Potter,” he said smugly.

“Harry?” she spluttered, almost spilling her tea. Rowle’s eyebrows knitted together.

“What?”

“And, um, did you ever ask Draco Malfoy’s opinion on me shagging Harry?”

Rowle looked even more confused.

“I don’t think Malfoy would be happy if I shagged his boyfriend.”

There was a moment, and then Rowle looked up, eyes wide.

“Potter… and Malfoy? He’s… gay?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, sipping her tea, “And should that be a problem?”

“No,” Rowle said, “One of the muggles I knew was gay. Him and his husband were in the process of adopting a little girl.”

“How sweet,” Hermione said, and took another gulp of her tea. She stared at Rowle, analysing him thoroughly. He was big,  _ very  _ big, in more ways that one. He easily had almost a foot on her 5’5 height, and his shoulders and chest were very broad too. His legs and arms were like treetrunks, but he moved surprisingly quick. Realising she was staring, she looked up at his face. He was admiring the ceiling, it seemed, his glance darting around the room.

“What is this place?” he finally asked.

“12 Grimmauld Place,” Hermione said, “Sirius and Regulus Black used to live here.”

He scoffed, “This looks nothing like Reg’s old place.”

“You knew Regulus Black?”

“Walburga and my mother were rather close. Until they both died.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t realise.”

Rowle shrugged, “Don’t be. She was never a very good mother. Very pureblooded in her ways of raising a child. Hire a nanny and see you at 7pm for dinner. That kind of parenting.”

“I would never raise a child like that.”

“Already thinking of our sprogs, are you?” Rowle asked cheekily. Her cheeks flushed, “No. And the reason it doesn’t look like the Black’s house is because I refurbished it. Completely.”

“How did you remove the sticking charms from the portraits?” Rowle asked, “Magical portraits are particularly hard to remove.”

“Bill Weasley - that’s Ron’s older brother - he’s a cursebreaker.”

“Got the whole Weasley clan helping, did you?”

“Mmm,” she said, “And Harry and Malfoy, and Luna and Neville.”

“So now what?”

“What do you mean?” she said, putting their mugs in the sink. She’d do the washing up later, after dinner. 

“Well, is it suitable to live in? No dark magic, no portraits, no false steps?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, “Harry wouldn’t give me a house with dark magic in it.”

“This is Potter’s house?”

“Technically,” she said, “Sirius Black was his godfather. He gave everything to him, all the Black money.”

“So he’s loaded.”

“Him and Malfoy are set for life,” she agreed, “With the Potter, Black and Malfoy vaults between them, they’d never have to work a day in their life.”

“What about you?”

Hermione turned around, incredulous, “What do you mean?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. Rowle chuckled, “I just mean, would you ever have to work a day in your life. If you didn’t want to?”

“My vault isn’t overflowing, if thats what you mean. I got a… rather large bonus at the end of the war-”

“War heroes usually do.”

“And my work pays well-”

“Which is?”

“Um…”

“C’mon Princess, what do you work as? Ministry?”

“Yes,” Hermione said slowly. She really didn’t want Rowle to know she was the one responsible for putting him in the muggle world for 8 years. They’d been getting along so well, and everything. 

The doorbell rang, making both of them jump.

“I’ll get it,” she said quickly, running out of the kitchen. It was Luna and Neville, standing holding a gift basket and a bottle of wine, respectively.

“Luna! Nev! It’s so good to see you!”

Hermione had never been so happy to see the couple. Rowle lumbered through from the kitchen, and stood watching from the bottom of the stairs.

“Hermione! May we come in?”

“Of course,” Hermione smiled, taking the basket off Luna.

“Careful dear, there’s Nargles everywhere around you. Feeling stressed?”

“You could say that,” Hermione managed weakly, “Nev, Luna, this is-”

Rowle suddenly appeared at her side, throwing an arm over her shoulder.

“Thorfinn Rowle, at your service.”

He stuck out an arm to shake, which Neville did, swapping the wine to his other hand briefly. Luna just admired him with a tilt to her head. There was a moment of calm, and then Neville pushed the wine bottle into Rowle’s hand.

“White wine,” he said, “Know it’s not your favourite, Mione, but it’s all we had.”

“Well, we had Dirigible Plum homemade,” Luna began, but Neville cut her off with a slight cough, “And we brought food as well. Didn’t know if you’d want to cook today. Y’know, with all this going on.”

He didn’t gesture at Rowle, but he might as well have done. Hermione suddenly felt Rowle’s hand on her shoulders more than ever. She wasn’t sure if he tensed or not, but something definitely changed.

“I’ll go put this in the cooler,” he said gruffly, waving the wine and taking the basket from Luna. He walked away stiffly, and Hermione stared after him.

“Lots of Nargles,” Luna wistfully said, “You must ease out some of that tension and stress.”

“Let’s go, darling,” Neville said, “Wouldn’t want to distract the newlyweds too long.”

This awoke Hermione from her daze with a start, “Oh, no, it’s quite alright.”

But Neville and Luna were already heading for the door.

“Goodbye Hermione!” Neville called, “Nice seeing you!”

“Do try to work out some of your stress,” Luna said, “I’m sure your husband could see to it.”

Hermione flushed red again, yes, she was sure he could. The door shut with a slam and she heard a snicker behind her. Rowle stood there, seemingly having snuck back in without her noticing.

“I could see to it, huh?” 

“Shut up,” snapped Hermione, “That’s not what she meant.”

Rowle hummed again, before checking his watch, “Dinner, Princess? They brought pie.”

Dinner was a lovely, if stiff affair. They partook in pleasant, simple conversation, like one might with the mother of a friend you haven’t seen in eight years. Every time the conversation veered towards jobs, or money, or work, Hermione swifty steered it away, earning a few raised eyebrows from Rowle. The pie Neville and Luna brought was delicious, as was all of Neville’s cooking. Even Rowle begrudgingly admitted Longbottom could cook well. After dinner Hermione collected the plates and walked through to the kitchen to begin washing them up.

“I’ll dry,” Rowle said. 

The two of them worked quickly and efficiently. Rowle seemed fairly alright with all this domestic-ness. It was odd. The hulking Death Eater -  _ ex _ Death Eater, she reminded herself - looked rather ridiculous handling the floral tea towel, but it was rather adorable at the same time. Hermione realised that he must have done all this the muggle way, after years of doing it with magic.

_ Or with house elves _ the voice in her head said,  _ He is a Pureblood, after all _

She wondered how his family, if he had any, would react to her. Not only was she six years younger than him, not really a problem in the wizarding world, there had been couples with almost 40 years between them, but she was a proud Muggleborn, and a high-ranking member of the ‘light’ during the war. The war which many pureblooded witches and wizards were on the other side of.

“Rowle,” she said, as he hung up the tea towel to dry, “Do you have any family?”

He stopped, his back facing her, “An aunt and a half-brother.”

“No parents?”

“Dead. Mother died when I was a child. Father at the hands of The Dark Lord.”

He turned to face her, face stony, “Is that all your questions?”

The menacing person she remembered from that fateful day in the cafe returned. She gulped, “No. Well… no, I just wondered if they would attend the wedding, that’s all.”

“Probably not.”

“Oh.”

She twisted her hands about her wrists anxiously before the grandfather clock in the hall chimed out 9’oclock.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

He followed her up the stairs, silently taking in the refurbished house. Light streamed in through windows and reflected off well-placed mirrors, making the house miles away from the grungy, dark hiding place it had once been. They went past the first floor, where the study, the library and the drawing room sat, and the second floor, where the guest rooms were. Finally, on the third floor, four storeys up, were two large bedrooms. 

“That one’s yours,” she said, pointing to the one on the left, “And this ones mine. They both have bathrooms and wardrobes attached.”

“We have separate bedrooms,” he mused quietly, “Of course we do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never took you for a traditional witch. Distance until marriage, and all that. Want Potter to be a chaperone or something?”

“I’m not traditional,” Hermione leant against the doorway of her bedroom, “I just don’t want to share a bed with you.”

“Are you sure?” Rowle asked, his voice deepening to a depth that made Hermione shudder, “I’m sure I could convince you.”

He took a step closer, effectively trapping her against the door of her own room. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath.

“No,” she said, pushing him away. She half expected (and maybe wanted) him to stay there, caging her in, but he stepped back respectively and crossed his arms.

“Alright.”

“Alright.” Her breathing had somewhat regained normality and she felt like her heartrate was a lot slower. 

“G’night Granger.” He yawned, stretched and began taking his top off. Hermione squeaked and averted her eyes, opening her door to hide behind it.

“Goodnight Rowle,” she said softly, and closed the door.

Rowle watched as her door shut and locked. He sighed. He was going to have that witch in his bed soon enough. She was gorgeous, miles from the bratty, bushy-haired firstie he remembered from school. She’d certainly grown up nicely, that was for sure. He pushed open the door to his room - definitely big enough, he thought - and headed into the bathroom. Maybe a quick shower could fix this little… well rather large, actually… problem he gained whenever he was around her. Thank goodness for loose-fitting robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have actually got a plan set out & I hate unfinished works as much as the next person, so I am going to try and finish this.  
> That being said, I have the memory of a goldfish. 
> 
> pls review it’ll make me happy :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short-ish chapter, but here’s some more fluff :)

Hermione hummed as she shampooed her hair. The only time it was really manageable was when it was wet. Water trailed down her body as she softly sung a muggle lullaby her parents had taught her. Her mind wandered - would Rowle know it? Would he have started a relationship whilst in the muggle world? He was certainly attractive enough, she thought, and she knew more than a few muggle women who would’ve liked to date him.

Stepping out the shower, she spelled her hair and body dry - one of the few things she decidedly did not miss about the muggle world was spending forty bloody minutes drying her hair - and changed into a light sundress. As she opened her bedroom door, the faint waft of bacon came up the stairs. Was he… cooking? It certainly smelt like it. Curious, she tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen.

Standing shirtless, only wearing trousers and a “kiss the cook” apron Harry had bought her three years ago for Christmas, was Rowle. His long golden hair was tied back with one of her bobbles, but strands kept falling out and getting in his face and irritating him. He pulled one, an annoyed grumble coming out. In the pan were a few rashers of bacon, sizzling away.

“You can cook?”

Rowle turned around suddenly, a smirk crossing his face.

“Obviously, Princess, I was practically a muggle for eight years.”

“How was it?” Hermione asked, taking a seat at the large farmhouse table in the middle of the kitchen, “Being a muggle.”

“We’ll, you’d be the one to know,” Rowle said, after a moment.

“I mean, how did you find it?”

“Why do you care?”

“Geez, I’m just curious,” she snapped, playing with a strand of her hair, “No need to be-”

“It was weird,” Rowle sighed, “Going from magic, to nothing at all. And the added part that I knew about the Wizarding World, and I so desperately wanted someone to tell me what was going on, but nobody ever came.”

Hermione felt guilty. She’d been part of the team who denied these prisoners-on-parole any part of the Wizarding World, in case they tried to come back before they were fully reformed. They’d already had a few threats of breakout from Azkaban, and a few dark wizards who’d evaded capture had set a whole Wizarding village alight, not long after the Final Battle.

“Did you get a job?”

“In a Muggle pub,” Rowle said, “And I lived in the flat above it. I made things work. And to be fair, it was either this or Azkaban.”

Hermione stared at him, feeling like she was being shown a whole new side of the man. And the additional fact that her parole seemed to have worked. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. He certainly wasn’t bad looking. Rowle continued, “Nobody had any… prejudice, y’know? I’d just been told I was a dangerous criminal, and that my whole world was over, and,” he paused, to flip the bacon, eyes trained on the pan and not on Hermione, “And maybe I was wrong.”

Hermione made a small choking noise. Rowle turned around and stared, pointing his spatula at her, “What?!”

“Just… you admitted-”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. It seemed the bacon even quietened in its pan. Hermione took a deep breath, “Tell me how you found it. How was being…. a non magical wizard? Did you find… the lack of magic difficult?”

Rowle hummed noncommittally.

“How did it work?”

“You mean my tattoo?”

“I’m curious,” admitted Hermione, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Rowle gave her a small grin, “You’re curious about everything.”

She laughed, and it was magic to his ears.

“Yes. I think its in my nature. But tell me, please.”

“What’s in it for me?” he teased. Hermione rolled her eyes, “I don’t know. What do you want?”

Rowle tapped a finger on his chin, pretending he was thinking hard, “Why don’t you look at it, and I’ll think of my present later.”

Hermione scoffed at the ‘present’, but he kept his word. He sat down at the chair opposite her and pulled the top of the apron down, revealing not only a rather appealing set of muscles, but a small, golden tattoo. Excited, Hermione gave a small squeak and stood up from her chair, and stood at his side. She tried not to notice how his thighs were about the same size as both of her legs, or how he smelt good - very good- as she bent over him to peer at the tattoo. It looked like some sort of rune, maybe, or a combination of runes. It shone gold and pulsed against his pale skin.

“Can I touch it?” she breathed.

“You can touch any part of me, Princess.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione shifted so she could see it better and leant against his thigh in the process. She ran her fingers across the tattoo, making him shiver with the contact. She leaned in even closer, her face pressed up against his shoulder. The golden glow wasn’t very bright, but it still made her squint. There was definitely some powerful magic at play. Suddenly she felt a hand on her back and was suddenly hoisted onto Rowle’s lap.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, “You can see it better now.”

Squirming slightly, she adjusted herself on his lap, and internally cursed on how comfortable she felt straddling him. The tattoo was definitely runes, she decided. It looked like a few overlapping each other, and whilst she recognised one’s familiar shape - ‘magic’ - the others were new. She’d have to get someone to take another look. Maybe Theo, she mused, he was always good at runes. It had infuriated her at school, but to be fair, Theodore Nott had never called her a Mudblood, or ever really spoken about her blood status. He’d been nothing but a stereotypical scheming slytherin, dolling out the charm on a regular basis. Maybe they got charm lessons in Slytherin, because Rowle was certainly laying it on thick. Not that she really minded, in fact she’d become rather comfortable on his legs. Even though she was in a dress and a niggling thought at the back of her legs reminded her there were only so few layers between-

“Am I interrupting something?

Hermione yelled, and she would have fell backwards off Rowle’s lap, if it weren’t for his fast reflexes. His hand slipped round her waist and caught her, scowling at the new arrival.

“Ginny!” Hermione stuttered, removing herself carefully from Rowle’s grasp. Ginny raised an eyebrow,

“You look comfortable.”

“No, no, no,” Hermione assured her, cheeks flushing, “I was just looking at the runes, I might have to ask someone else-”

“You’re rambling,” Ginny said, dumping her bag on the table and sitting down, “But it doesn’t matter, I don’t care what, or who, you do in your spare time.”

Hermione spluttered, “Ginny!”

Rowle chuckled and served the bacon, now a bit crispier than he would have liked, “I’ll leave you two ladies alone.”

Hermione’s face was bright red, and she had her hands on her hips, glaring at Ginny as Rowle left the room, preferring to eat in the large formal dining room.

“I mean he’s not bad looking, Hermione,” Ginny said, “You could do worse.”

“He’s a ministry regulated match, Gin, he’s not…”

“Still fit.”

“Why did you come round?” Hermione said, stabbing her bacon. Ginny reached over and stole a rasher, chomping down on it before she spoke.

“I need to tell you something. Something rather big. But for now,” Ginny paused for dramatic effect, “Tell me who the Viking is. I want to know everything.”

“He’s nice,” Hermione said mildly. Ginny gave her a look, and she sighed.

“Fine, he’s very nice. Not bad to look at. In fact, I would probably have to agree with you on the whole,” she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, “Fit situation.”

Ginny squealed with excitement and cast a Muffliato on the room. Hermione rolled her eyes and Ginny drummed her hands on the table.

“How’s the married life?”

“We’re not married, Ginny, we’re formally engaged.”

“Has he got you a ring?”

That stumped Hermione. He hadn’t got her a ring, but maybe that was because he hadn’t had the time, or maybe he believed she didn’t deserve one. Perhaps he was of the thought she wasn’t worth a proper marriage.

“He hasn’t got you a ring?”

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted, “But its a ministry regulated match, we’re not in love or anything.”

“You seemed pretty comfy when I got in,” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow again - her signature look, which she had definitely gained from Malfoy.

“I was looking at his tattoo,” Hermione scolded, “I wanted to know about it.”

“The Great Hermione Granger, curious about magic. Will it ever end?” Ginny threw her hands in the air dramatically.

“Shut up, Ginny,” Hermione said, “Or I’ll kick you out. What did you even come round for anyways?”

Ginny paled a little, and shifted in her seat, “Well…”

“You’re not in trouble or anything? Is it your match?”

Ginny shook her head, fidgeting again. She took a deep breath and looked away from Hermione.

“We’ve been friends for ages, yeah,” Ginny started, “And you’ve helped me through loads of things - like Harry finally figuring out he liked boys, and… y’know, the whole engagement thing…”

Ginny had been engaged to a French wizard under the name of DuBois, but he’d ran off two months before the wedding and had never come back.

“Mmm,” Hermione said, “And?”

“Well, I think… no I’m pretty sure… to a good degree of accuracy…”

“Ginevra Molly Weasley, you tell me what it is right now!”

“Hermione, I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo.... yeah. i do love a cliffhanger. and i’ve got so many plans for the rest of the chapters & ginnys baby-daddy :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today is a wonderful day because greggs has reopened! all hail the pasty king of the north  
> have a wonderful thursday my lovelies :)

Hermione sat at the large wooden desk in the library, chewing the end of her quill. It was a disgusting habit that she’d picked up from Ron, but she couldn’t stop herself. She looked at the piece of parchment on the table in front of her. How was she meant to begin?  _ Hi Theo, I know we haven’t spoken for 8 years but I need your help _ , or was she supposed to say,  _ Dear Mr Nott, I understand your proficiency at runes is much better than mine… _

“Whatcha doing?” Ginny came into the library, munching on a cookie. After her big revelation, she’d decided to stay the night and the two of them had sat in front of the fireplace, just talking, until 2am. 

“Writing a letter,” Hermione mumbled. Her head hurt. The talking had involved a rather large amount of Firewhiskey, as well.

“To who?” Ginny sat down on one of the sofas and disdainfully removed a stack of books from the table, instead placing her feet on the marble coffee table.

“Theodore Nott? I’m not sure if you’ll remember him, he was a Slytherin in my year,” Hermione spun around to see Ginny frozen in her spot, “What?”

“Nothing…” Ginny spluttered, “Name rings a bell, that’s all. And… why are you writing to him?”

“Well, you know Rowle’s tattoo?”

“The one on his big, muscular chest?” Ginny asked, giggling.

“Yes,” said Hermione jokingly, “The one on his big muscular chest.” 

She really hoped Rowle wasn’t around to hear that, but last she knew he’d decided to fix a broken wall in the garden. He was utterly bored, and she knew that. But there wasn’t much she could do if he was still limited on his magic. 

“Well why do you want Nott to look at your man’s chest?” Ginny asked.

Hermione stifled a laugh, before turning back to her paper, “Theo was always better at runes at me-”

“Bet you loved that.”

“Anyways, I’m not sure what some of the tunes that make up Rowle’s tattoo are, so…” Hermione shrugged, “I’m going to ask Theo to come over and look at them.”

Ginny made a disparaging noise, “Why does he have to come  _ here _ ? Why can’t you go to his?”

“Because Rowle can’t leave yet, not with no magic. It’s not safe.”

“Hermione, he’s 6’5 and built like a brick. I think you’re going to be the one in danger, if anything.”

“He’s coming here, Gin, and that’s that. If you don’t like it, you could always go back to The Burrow.”

Ginny pulled a face, “And deal with my mother? Hermione, I could be pregnant. Molly Weasley is  _ not  _ going to like that.”

Hermione hummed, and continued writing her letter. How  _ was  _ she going to pose this question to Theo? She hadn’t spoke to him in years, and whilst they’d left school fairly placidly - well, as placidly as a Slytherin and a Gryffindor could leave an extended version of 7th year, a year after a war - she couldn’t bring herself to just pop in and visit him, as much as Ginny would prefer that. Chewing her quill again, she signed the letter with a flourish and tied it up. Ginny was still sitting on the sofa, staring at her feet.

“Gin, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, standing up to sit next to her, “You look positively terrified.”

Ginny gave a small giggle, before taking a deep breath, “Well… it’s about Nott.”

“What?”

“He… might be…. now I’m not saying he is, but I’m not saying that, you know, he definitely should be ruled out or anything…. it’s just that…”

“He’s the father of the baby, isn’t he?”

Ginny looked up guiltily, “Possibly?”

Hermione sighed. Well that would complicate things.

Hermione was startled awake by someone rapping on her door. She had been trying to enjoy her afternoon nap, and the door swung open. Rowle was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded.

“There’s a man at the front door for you.”

“A man?”

“Got something to tell me, Princess? Another man in your life?”

“Get over yourself,” Hermione rolled out of bed and stretched, “It’s probably just Theo.”

“Theo, huh?” Rowle followed her as she walked down the stairs, “So he’s on a first-name basis, and I’m not?”

“Theo hasn’t tried to kill me.”

“I’m your fiancé!” Rowle cried as they got to the hallway.

“Mmm, a fiancé who’s tried to kill me at least once. Go pop the kettle on. I’ll open the door.”

Rowle threw his hands up in exasperation but walked towards the kitchen. Hermione opened the door to find Theo Nott, in all his glory, standing there awkwardly.

“Hermione?”

“Theo!” Hermione stepped forward for a hug, but stopped herself last minute and instead awkwardly ushered him in.

“It’s, er, good to see you.” 

“You too,” Theo said, “There’s some runes you want me to see?”

“Yes, yes, they’re on-”

“Afternoon, Nott.” Ginny was standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Ginny…” Nott seemed surprised by her presence, but he recovered smoothly, “You’re glowing, as usual.”

Ginny huffed.

“And, obviously, Hermione, you look gorgeous as well.”

Hermione flushed a little, before taking Theo through to the kitchen. Rowle was standing pouring the tea.

“Theo, this is…”

“Thorfinn Rowle!” Theo exclaimed, “It’s been a while!”

“Nott,” Rowle acknowledged politely, “And you’re here to see my tattoo?”

“Yes,” Theo said, taking a cup of tea, “You’re living here now? Lucky,” he sniffed.

“Lucky?” Rowle questioned, but his eyes hardened like he already knew the answer.

“Lucky that you’re living here with two such lovely ladies. If you’d like a break at any time, I’d gladly take your place,” Theo laughed. Hermione laughed awkwardly and Theo smiled at her.

“Er, Rowle, could you take off your shirt?”

“Anything for you, Princess,” Rowle said, peeling off his shirt and (intentionally) flexing. Hermione’s jaw hardened as she pointed to the small tattoo on Rowle’s chest, “I got one of the runes, magic, but I think there’s others.”

“Do you mind?” asked Theo, as he stepped towards Rowle, brandishing a wand, “I find it better if I can take a print of the runes as well.”

“No, no,” Rowle said, his eyes trained on Hermione. She shifted under his gaze. 

Theo spent about twenty minutes poking around Rowle’s tattoo, asking some relevant, such as had it affected Rowle’s mood (the answer being; it had at first, but not now) - and some irrelevant questions, such as did Hermione have a boyfriend (the answer being an awkward not  _ really _ ) as he went along.

“So, Hermione,” he asked, as he finished, “You have a boyfriend, then?”

Hermione tried really,  _ really _ , hard not to look at Rowle as she said, “Fiance, actually.”

If Theo was surprised, he didn’t show it. His eyes darted quickly between Rowle and Hermione before his face settled into a small smile, “And the lovely Miss Weasley?”

“Single,” Hermione said, “I think. Unless she’s got a boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

Theo hummed in agreement, before finishing his examination with a flick of his wand, “If you’d like an answer immediately, I could analyse them now. Do you have a study or a library you could use?”

“There’s one on the first floor,” Rowle said, “I’ll take you.”

Not only had Rowle shown some hospitality towards their guest, Hermione was rather shaken by the fact he had already got comfortable in the layout of the house. Rowle tugged his shirt back on -  _ a shame _ , the voice in her head said,  _ he did look so good without it _ \- and led Theo upstairs. Hermione stood frozen in the kitchen for a few moments before shaking her head and getting on with the rest of her day.

Hermione lay back in the sun lounger and closed her eyes. The fleeting moments of British summer really had to be enjoyed properly, she thought, and she was doing it well.

“Are you not going to come help me?” Rowle chuckled, “Or are you just going to lay there?”

Hermione flicked an eye open. Rowle was shirtless -  _ again _ \- and he was continuing his work on the wall that had been knocked down during the renovations of Grimmauld Place. 

“Mmm,” she said, “I’d rather just stay here.”

“Admiring the view?” Rowle lugged a huge stone from one pile to another and folded his arms across his chest. Hermione laughed and closed her eyes again.

“My eyes are closed Rowle, don’t worry.”

“Shame,” Rowle stalked towards her, “Mine aren’t.”

She could sense that he was close, maybe too close, and she didn’t dare to open her eyes. She felt his hot breath on her cheeks and she wriggled down the sun lounger, eventually opening her eyes… and found herself staring at his groin.

“My, my, Princess,” Rowle muttered, from his position of leaning over the sun lounger. His arms braced against the very top, his legs wide across the bottom half, and his groin pointed directly in Hermione’s face. Hermione made a small squeak and wiggled back up the lounger.

“You’re a tad close,” she said quietly. Rowle didn’t say anything, but one of his hands floated down from above her head and curled a soft tendril of her hair around his finger. Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat as he stared into her eyes. He looked like… no… he wasn’t going to…

“Hermione!”

A voice from the door made Rowle jump back. Theo was standing at the back door, waving frantically.

“Damm Nott,” Rowle muttered, but he offered an arm to Hermione anyways. He pulled her up from the lounger and swatted her bum as she made her way towards Theo. She should have hated it, but she most definitely didn’t. 

“Theo, I was just sunbathing,” Hermione said, “It’s such a lovely day, and-”

“I figured out what the runes are, Hermione, let’s go.”

As the two of them rushed up the stairs to the study, Hermione felt like she was back in Hogwarts, doing her Arithmancy project with Theo, the first project they’d done together. She remembered Malfoy’s face as ‘Nott and Granger’ was read out by Professor Vector, and Ron and Harry’s face when she told them later that day. They’d planned to meet in a secluded part of the library, as two returning 7th years from opposing houses and opposing sides of the war would make quite a stir if they were caught together, and it was then she realised that the tall Slytherin wasn’t actually that bad.

Theo sat her down at the chair and leant over her from behind, pointing at various books and cuttings of papers he had brought with him.

“You were right about ‘magic’ being one of them, but its an ancient variation, which I honestly didn’t think would be used anymore,” he flipped to another page in the crumbling book, “And when combined with this one, which means ‘reserved’ in ancient greek, its clear to see that the runes are the one doing the suppressing.”

Hermione watched in awe as Theo explained every single part of the complex tattoo that decorated Rowle’s chest.

“So effectively,” she eventually mused, “The tattoo could theoretically be reversed.”

She turned her head to look at Theo and he grinned, “Yes, but it would need some more complex runes to be drawn up. Each rune would have to interlink, and match and oppose another and-”

Theo didn’t get to finish his sentence because Hermione jumped up and gave him the biggest hug he’d ever recieved.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, “This is exactly what I needed. I’m going to get Rowle fixed.”

Rowle stood in the doorway to the library, staring at Hermione - _ his witch _ \- hugging that dammed Nott.

“They were always close in school,” a small voice from behind him said. He turned around to find Weasley staring at him, small hands resting on her stomach.

“How close?” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Not anything romantic,” Ginny sighed, “Theo isn’t really a romantic person, I guess.”

“Good for a quick shag and nothing else, hey, Weasley?” Rowle said. Ginny narrowed her eyes, “And you would know how?”

“You’re obviously pregnant, Weasley, and its also damm obvious it’s his kid.”

Ginny opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, “How did you…”

“You’ve been staring at him all day, and holding your belly any time he’s close.”

Ginny huffed, and then she looked at where Hermione and Theo had broken apart from the hug and were animatedly talking.

“She doesn’t like him like that, you know.” 

Rowle was silent.

“She tried, once. A year after they graduated.” 

This got his attention, “And he turned her down? A guy like him turned Hermione Granger down?”

“Mm,” Ginny agreed, “He said he wanted to focus on work. He’s a cursebreaker at Gringotts. Works with my older brother.”

“And what did she do then?”

“Cried. A little bit. And then started on the Death Eater Reform Act. The whole reformation and redemption thing. All her.”

She gave a knowing look at a shocked Rowle, “But don’t tell her I told you that. She’d have my head.”

Ginny wandered off down the hallway as Theo and Hermione walked towards Rowle.

“Rowle, we figured the tattoo out!” Hermione said excitedly, “Well, it was mostly Theo, but…”

Rowle gave a small smile, “How wonderful.”

“Well, I’d best be off then,” Theo said, “Wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Hermione said, “You’ve got to stay for dinner! You must!”

Theo smiled politely, “Well, if you insist. Is there a loo I can use quickly?”

“Just down the hall to your left.”

As Theo walked away, Rowle slipped an arm around Hermione, pulling her close to his chest.

“Rowle, what are you-”

“It would do you some good, dear Granger, to remember who your fiance is.”

“What do you mean?” she said, struggling in his grasp, but he held her firm.

“It’s me, Princess, not him. You’ve got to marry me.”

“I know that, Rowle, let go of me.”

Rowle twisted her around in his arms so she was facing him, and she peered up at him. His eyes were dark, not unlike the eyes she’d seen in the cafe oh-so-long ago.

“Rowle, let me go.”

“Kiss me.”

“Let me go, Rowle, you’re scaring me.”

“C’mon,” he crooned, “Kiss me.”

“Rowle!”

With a heave, she pushed him away from her and shrunk back into the hallway.

“What’s gotten into you?” she hissed, and huffed off down the hallway.

Rowle blinked. He wasn’t sure.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love a possessive bastard :)
> 
> also the formatting messed up in chapter 3 because i posted it on mobile, so i’m sorry and i might change it, i might not, depends if i can be bothered. if it’s too difficult to read as a block of text pls tell me and i’ll change it :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am so, so sorry for the delay in posting. things have gotten crazy recently. if you're interested in the full story, check the notes, otherwise, here's an extra long chapter to make up for it

Hermione shook her head as she stormed down the stairs. How  _ dare  _ he! She  _ knew _ she had to marry him and she wasn’t fucking happy about it! She stopped just before she entered the kitchen and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. Rowle was absolutely not messing up this dinner. It had been ages since she’d had guests, and this was particularly important over the semantics of a possible pregnancy.

“Oh, Hermione, there you are,” Ginny said, sitting as far away from Theo as she possibly could, “We wondered where you’d got to.”

“Rowle needed a hand with something,” she bit out, before checking the curry simmering away on the stove, “Oh, looks like it’s almost ready.”

Theo jumped up to help and she waved him down, “I can do it, you and Ginny can take your places at the table, I’m sure Rowle will be down any minute to help.”

Rowle was not down any minute, in fact it was thirteen (she counted) minutes after she’d plated the meal that he finally bothered to show up, not making eye contact with her at all as he took his place at the table. Theo raised a dark eyebrow as he entered,

“Took your time.”

“And what about it?” Rowle said, fork halfway to his mouth.

“Just thought you’d be here, you know, helping your  _ fiancé _ ,” he stressed the last word with a smug look. 

“Was busy.”

“Clearly.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Leave it alone, Nott.”

“Oh it’s back to Nott is it?” Rowle said with a glint in his eye.

“Rowle…” Hermione said warningly, and then under her breath, “Play nice.”

If Rowle heard her, he didn’t listen, giving Theo a knowing look before turning to the red-headed girl on his left, “How are you, Ginevra?”

Ginny almost choked, “Call me Ginevra one more time and I’ll kill you before Hermione does.”

“My, my,” Theo butted in, “Surely death threats can’t be good for a relationship.”

“We’re just starting to figure it out,” Hermione said through a grimace, wondering what on earth had got into Theo.

Rowle, on the other hand, was intently listening to Ginny’s story about her day at work, before holding up her empty wine glass, “No wine for you?”

Ginny went pale, “Er…” she shot a look at Hermione, “No thanks, I’m.. well… on call, you see. Can’t be drunk.”

“On call for what?” Theo asked, “I thought you played for the Harpies.”

“Yes,” Ginny said, flashing ‘help me’ eyes at Hermione, “But its-”

“I thought you told me it was in case of an emergency press conference,” Hermione said, swirling her remaining wine in her glass, “But you can top me up, Rowle.”

“I’m sure I can,” Rowle said, smirking.

“Top me  _ up _ , Rowle, I think you missed a word.”

“Have you had sex yet?” The question came quite out of nowhere as Theo - or as he was heading rather close towards Nott - put his cutlery delicately on his plate. Most of the meal had gone without conversation, until this rather out of the ordinary question.

“Excuse me?” Hermione spluttered, and Rowle went red.

“Have you… fornicated?”

“Have you?” Rowle shot back.

“With who?” Theo leant back, “I could name quite a few recently.”

“Well I could name one-”

“No, Theo,” Hermione butt in before Rowle revealed Ginny’s potential secret to the potential father of her child who she potentially had unprotected sex with, “We haven’t.”

“Only been engaged a week,” Rowle chewed on the remaining Naan, “Pureblood tradition, you know. Keep it pure.”

“That is  _ not _ the reason we haven’t had sex,” Hermione said aghast, “That isn’t happening.”

“It’s not?” Ginny, Theo and Rowle all said at the same time. Goddamn purebloods and their archaic virginity trials. Hermione rolled her eyes, “Why do you care, Theo?”

“Just… interesting. You two could use a stress relief.”

“Oh god, Nott, just shut up,” Ginny said, poking him in the side, “This is uncomfortable enough without you sniffing around in someone else’s private life.”

“Oh really?” said Theo, turning to face Ginny, “You haven’t spoken much. What’s your private life like, huh? Anyone special?”

“Theo!” Hermione admonished, “What’s-”

Unfortunately, Hermione was a little too late to ask Theo what had gotten into him, as Ginny had thrown her water all over him and stormed out the room. The remaining three sat there in shock, as Theo delicately dabbed himself with a napkin.

“Lovely dinner, Granger,” he said, “I think I might have to leave.”

“I think you might be correct,” Hermione added tensley.

“Get out of my house,” Rowle growled. 

“Don’t remember Potter ever giving  _ you  _ the keys to-”

“Theo, just leave. Please. You’ve antagonised enough people tonight. I’ll owl you when you’re in a better mood.”

Theo stood up, awkwardly nodded to Hermione, ignored Rowle completely and stepped out into the hallway, “Your Floo?” He called.

“In the Drawing Room,” Hermione called back, “Third door to your right. Fancy brass knockers. Floo powder is in a little grey dish.”

Hermione and Rowle sat in silence for a few moments.

“Well I think we can safely say that was a disaster, Princess.”

For once, Hermione didn’t correct him on her name.

Hermione had gone up to the rarely-used west wing to try and find the bedroom she presumed Ginny was in. Rowle had silently agreed to do the washing up - or more rather, hadn’t complained when she’d shoved the plates into his hand - and she was left with the task of finding an angry, sad redhead.

“Gin?” she called into the dark corridor. The west wing had been where Harry and Draco had guest bedrooms before they’d moved out into the Manor, and she hadn’t changed the layout. She presumed Ginny would know that this would be an excellent place to cry, after all she’d stayed there last summer.

She’d stayed there last summer.

Hermione knew  _ exactly _ where Ginny had gone, she just needed to get there before Rowle did. 

Running up the stairs, she rushed up onto the third floor where the door to Rowle’s - or what had been Ginny’s last summer - room was shut. She leant against the door and heard quiet snoring. Definitely not the deafening symphony she’d heard last night.

“What are you doing, Princess?” Rowle said as he came up the stairs behind her.

“Shh,” she said, “Ginny’s in there.”

“Why is Weaslette in my room?”

Hermione turned to look at him, “Because it was her room last summer.”

“Oh, so it’s a previously owned bedroom you gave me, huh.”

“Every room in this house is previously owned, you dipshit. It’s been standing since the 1800s.”

Rowle gave her a cheeky smile, and then crossed his arms, “Where am I supposed to sleep then?”

“Er,” Hermione paused. None of the guest rooms had sheets or bedding, and it was 11pm at night. She really couldn’t be arsed to drag a king-size duvet down from the cupboard onto a bed, and she had a sneaking suspicion Rowle wasn’t exactly willing to help her with that. 

_ He could sleep in your bed _ , the annoying voice piped up,  _ We’d sure love that. _

_ He would probably crush you,  _ the sensible one replied.

_ Would that be so bad? _ The voice teasingly showed her an image of a half-naked Rowle on-

“Princess? Hello? Talking to you here?” Rowle waved a hand in front of her face.

“Sorry,” Hermione blushed, “Er, well, none of the guest rooms are set up, and obviously we can’t move Ginny so…” her gaze drifted over to her door. 

“Together?” Rowle followed her eyeline, “You and me-”

“There’s a sofa,” she hastily explained, “I can fit on it quite nicely. You can have my bed for the night, and we can sort it in the morning.”

“I can’t take your bed,” Rowle said as he followed her into her room. Her room was slightly bigger than his, he thought, not that he was complaining or anything. 

“You’re not going to fit on that,” Hermione gestured to a small grey sofa in the corner of her room surrounded by bookshelves.

“Yes I can,” Rowle squared up the sofa with his arms. 

“You’d fall off in the middle of the night and give me a heart attack.” she rolled her eyes and opened the en-suite door, “I’m going to get changed. You can get into bed.”

Hermione splashed her face with water after doing the skin-care routine Malfoy had demanded she follow. “Your face is average,” he’d said, “It needs moisture to glow.”

The matter-of-fact statement had, in fact, stuck with her and now she dutifully did all seven steps he’d laid out for her. She smoothed down her pajama shorts and stepped out into the bedroom again, turning to what she thought would be an empty sofa.

Rowle lay there, propped up on one arm, reading a book, the blanket fully covering him.

“Rowle,” she said, “Get off.”

“Can’t. Won’t. Shan’t.” His eyes never left the book.

“Look,” she said, stepping forward to pull the blanket off him. His arm reached out to hers and grabbed her hand, stopping it.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he mumbled.

“Why? You naked or something?”

Rowle finally tore his gaze away from his page to make eye contact with her. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“Thorfinn Rowle!” Hermione screeched, “You’re naked on my sofa?”

“Shh,” he said, gesturing to the wall separating theirs and Ginny’s rooms, “Sleeping Weasley.”

“You’re-”

“Go to bed, Granger, you’re giving me a headache. Sleep in your own bed.”

Hermione huffed, knowing she probably wasn’t going to win this one, and not really wanting to pull back the blanket to find out. She tucked herself into bed and snuggled down beneath her pillows.

“ _ Nox”  _ she said, plunging the room into darkness.

“G’night Princess,” Rowle said gruffly, “Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight Rowle,” she said after a beat, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

The next morning, Hermione awoke to a small knock on her door.

“Hermione?” the voice said timidly.

“Ginny?” Hermione sat up in bed, sheets pooling around her waist as she blearily rubbed her eyes, “Come in.”

The door opened slowly and Ginny peered into the room, staring at the big hulk sleeping on the sofa. She raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Oops,” Hermione shrugged sheepishly, “Forgot he was there.”

“I’m offended, Princess,” Rowle responded, not turning over. His voice was even deeper than usual and Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at Hermione.

“God that’s hot,” she mouthed and Hermione stifled a giggle. 

“Are you in my room, Weaslette?”

“I’m in Hermione’s room now, yes,” Ginny responded, making her way over to sit at the end of her bed.

“Which is now my room as you conveniently decided to steal mine,” Rowle said, “Now get out. I want sleep.”

“It’s fine, Gin, hang on, let me just grab my hoodie and I’ll come downstairs with you. Let the big buffoon get some beauty sleep.”

“Ah, so you think I’m pretty,” Rowle cried triumphantly as she shut the door on him. 

The girls wandered down the stairs into the kitchen, fixed themselves some tea and wandered into the drawing room, where Ginny dramatically flopped onto one of the couches.

“Ugh,” she said. Hermione laughed, and Ginny continued

“Sorry I was so… moody last night. Pregnancy hormones, I think.”

“I think everyone was a little moody last night,” she mused, cradling her cup of tea, “Oh, what’s that?”

She pointed to a small folded envelope on one of the middle tables. Ginny sat up and peered at it, “It’s not yours?”

“It’s addressed to you,” Hermione said, and it was. In thin, looping script was the words ‘ _ Ginny Weasley. _ ”

“Should I open it?” Ginny said, picking it up and turning it over in her hands.

“Obviously,” Hermione said excitedly, and Ginny grinned and began to read.

Rowle was rudely awoken for the second time that morning by a high-pitched scream, followed by a lot of banging and some loud noises. Huffing and puffing, he pulled on a pair of trousers (he hadn’t actually been fully naked, he was still some sort of gentleman) and stomped downstairs.

“What is wrong  _ now _ ?” he said, bursting into the drawing room where Granger was holding a sobbing Weaslette. He noticed a scrap of paper on the ground and picked it up. Granger nodded as she patted the back of the crying ginger.

“ _ Ginny,”  _ he read,  _ “My apologies for my actions last night. It was uncalled for. I am heading off to London now where I will be staying in my townhouse in Belgravia. You know the one.”  _ That sentence set off another howling sob from the Weaslette. 

“ _ When you finally feel ready to come talk to me about our unborn child, please do.”  _

Rowle looked up at Hermione, who nodded furiously; Rowle gulped and read the last sentence of the letter, “ _ Yours always and forever, Theo Nott.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically, the disastrous july-december wait relies on me being an idiot. I accidentally deleted the word doc with the outline on, and then the word doc with the actual story on, with an accidental factory reset of my phone, and i totally forgot about this... whoops. then with everything starting back up again in september it was crazy for a while as everyone kept getting covid and stuff. anywho, im v v sorry for the delay. the storyline has had to be completely rewritten from what i can remember from the plan and the first 4 chapters posted, so if you see any inconsistencies (e.g ginny working for holyhead harpies this chapter and then the DMLE next chapter or whatever) please please please just let me know.  
> anyways hope everyone has a lovely christmas :)  
> i also think i've redone chapter 3 to make it easier to read.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy new year! here's chapter 6

_ One Week Later _

“Hermione, are you sure?”

“Gin, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t go now you’re going to chicken out and never even think about it again.”

“Maybe that’s her cunning plan,” Rowle chuckled from the corner, and Ginny gave him a glare. 

“Rowle, you’re not helping,” she whined, “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“I think the ‘Always and Forever’ speaks for itself,” Hermione said, straightening Ginny’s skirt. She stepped back and appraised her work before nodding to herself and handing Ginny the bowl of floo powder.

“Take it,” she sighed, “You’ll feel better after a chat with him.”

“And if I don’t?”

Hermione grinned, “I’ll send Rowle to the big Tesco for some Ben and Jerry’s and we’ll watch Legally Blonde again.”

“Promise?” Ginny looked back one more time, and Hermione gave her a reassuring nod. Taking a deep breath, Ginny threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and called out, “Theo Nott’s house!”

She stumbled slightly as she fell into the immaculately pristine drawing room of Theo’s London townhouse. There was nobody in the room and she wondered if he was even in the house. Just as she was about to call out, ‘hello’, an elf popped into the room.

“Hello, Miss,” the elf said, “I is being Dinkie. You is being?”

“Erm,” said Ginny, “Ginny Weasley, I’m wondering if Mr Nott is in?”

“Young Mister Nott is in,” Dinkie confirmed, “Would the Miss Ginny be liking to see him?”

“Er, yes please,” Ginny said, as the elf popped away, wondering if there was an ‘Old’ Mister Nott also in. That was one person she didn’t want to meet, and although she was pretty sure Hermione had said Nott Sr had been killed in the Final Battle, she didn’t want to risk it.

A noise at the doorway made her spin around and stare, and Theo stared back at her. He was… oh, Merlin, he was only wearing a towel.

“Theo-” Ginny choked out, covering her eyes with her hands, “Would you-”

“Sorry, Dinkie is very insistent when it comes to getting people for guests,” Theo chuckled, “One second.”

She heard the familiar sound of elf apparition twice more before daring to open her eyes.

“I’m decent now.”

“That’s subject to opinion,” she snorted, and peeked through her fingers.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before,” Theo was very close to her, but thankfully had trousers and a sweatshirt on now. He managed to look more put-together in the thirty seconds Dinkie had given him, than the hour this morning that Hermione had fussed over Ginny, and it almost made her cry. Sniffing, she removed her hands and tucked them around herself instead. Theo stared at her awkwardly.

“I, er, guess you got my letter then,” he finally said.

“Yes, and I wanted to talk to you about it,” Ginny didn’t dare to make eye contact with the tall Slytherin.

“So you are pregnant, then.”

“Yes.”

“Definitely?”

“Hermione made me do a Muggle pregnancy test this morning,” Ginny mumbled.

“And it’s definitely mine?”

“Yes.”

Theo took two large steps towards her and took her face in his hands. He tilted her head up so she was forced to look him in the eye and he considered her for a minute, “Definitely?”

“I haven’t…” Ginny swallowed, “I haven’t had sex with anyone else, so yeah.”

Theo brushed a strand of her hair out of her face and nodded silently. The two stood like that, far closer than they had been for months, before Dinkie popped into the room, breaking the two apart.

“Is Missus Weasley wanting tea? Dinkie can be getting tea if the Missus would like?”

“Er,” Ginny began. 

Theo grinned and picked up his cloak, “Perhaps we should go out.”

“Out?” Ginny said, “Like, out out? Together?”

“Scared, Weasley?” Theo paused to look back as he wrapped his green Slytherin scarf around himself.

“I don’t have a cloak. And- and it’s cold.” Ginny said firmly, “Therefore we can’t-”

Theo tossed a black cloak at her without a second glance. Rolling her eyes, she unfurled it - it was soft and smooth, perhaps silk, and trimmed with something expensive looking. It was probably one of the nicest things she’d ever put on, she mused, as she pulled it across her shoulders. She looked up to find Theo staring at her in deep thought.

“Something isn’t quite right…” he said, and picked up his wand. With a silent flourish, he turned the cloak to a deep emerald green, and Ginny scowled.

“Theo! I can’t go out like this.” 

If Theo heard her complaints, he certainly didn’t respond, and instead held out his arm for Side-Along Apparation.

“Can’t believe you’re making me wear Slytherin green,” Ginny muttered as she conceded, and gripped him tight. Theo chuckled as he began to Apparate.

“You’re carrying a Slytherin in there, darling, you better get used to it.”

The couple landed in Diagon Alley with a jarring halt, and Ginny would have probably fallen flat on her face if it wasn’t for Theo’s arm wrapping around her waist quickly. 

“Woah, there,” he said, pulling her upright, “Don’t collapse on me now.”

“Wasn’t going to collapse, your Apparation is shit,” Ginny shot back, taking a healthy step away from Theo and dropping his arm, “Right. Where were we going?”

A flicker of something spread across Theo’s face, but before he could answer her question, there was a shout.

“Nott? NOTT!”

Theo rolled his eyes as Draco Malfoy strolled towards them, Harry close on his heels.

“Drake. What-”

“You owe me 5 galleons,” Malfoy exclaimed dramatically.

“Why is that?” Theo crossed his arms, and Ginny could have sworn she saw a nerve bulge in his jaw.

“I won the bet about names.”

“Names?” Theo said, as Harry finally caught up with the pair. He glanced briefly at Ginny, pulled a face at Malfoy and then sighed, “I agreed to alphabetical names.”

“ _ No _ ,” Malfoy whirled around, “You agreed that the Malfoy name would come first when we eventually have sprogs.”

“Oh Merlin,” Theo chuckled, “The world does not need Potter-Malfoy children running around.”

“They’d be Malfoy-Potter, actually, my good man,” Malfoy said with a gleam in his eye, “And that is precisely why you owe me 5 galleons.”

Theo rolled his eyes good-naturedly and started hunting around in his moneybag for the coins Draco so kindly asked for.

“Er, Ginny,” Harry finally noticed her, “How are you… what are you doing here?”

Ginny blushed and Theo stopped rattling around for coins, slowly looking back up at her, his eyes wide.

“Hi, Harry,” she squeaked, “Just… out and about.”

“That’s an awfully nice cloak you have on there, Weasley,” Malfoy’s eyes darted back and forth between Theo and Ginny, “Lovely colour.”

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, “Yes… why are you wearing a-”

“She’s with me, Potter, have you not figured that one out by now?” Theo said, thrusting the Galleons into Malfoy’s hand frustratedly, and taking Ginny’s arm, “And we’ll be going now.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Harry grabbed a hold of Ginny, his quick seeker reflexes and harsh grip pinching her forearm, “What are you doing with her?”

“Now,” Malfoy said, “Why would a couple with _ absolutely _ nothing in common be out and about in Diagon Alley together, if it weren’t for one of three things.”

“Drake,” Theo warned, and Ginny’s fingers pried Harry off her, fumbling back into Theo’s grip.

“Oh, sweet Merlin and Circe,” Malfoy clapped a hand over his mouth.

Harry looked between all three, thoroughly confused.

“Draco, what-” he began, as Malfoy stepped forward and tipped Ginny’s head back with the end of his gloved finger.

“Malfoy,” Ginny said, “I don’t know what you think you know-”

“You’re pregnant.” Malfoy said simply, dropping his hand and stepping back to be beside his boyfriend. 

“YOU’RE WHAT?” Harry bellowed, and Malfoy simply placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him back.

“Harry, shhh, please, be quiet,” Ginny said, her voice cracking, “We-”

Malfoy looked at Theo and cocked an eyebrow, to which Theo silently nodded in response.

“Well, that’s definitely a development nobody saw coming,” he quipped, and then said in a lower voice, “I’m presuming we’re the first to know.”

“ _ Nobody _ needs to know,” Theo responded, “Me and Ginny, we’re going to do this together. We’ve got it sorted.”

Ginny looked up at him as he settled an arm around her shoulders, and looked down at her. 

“You… you…” Harry never did finish his sentence, as by that point he had well and truly socked Theo in the nose.

  
  


_ Meanwhile _

Hermione sat at the large mahogany desk in the Red Office, swinging her legs childishly as she sorted through the obscene amount of papers. The desk in Grimmauld Place’s study had been hand-carved for a much larger person, perhaps Sirius’ father or grandfather. Now Hermione was no tiny person, but she certainly was short enough that her feet barely touched the floor when she sat on the matching chair, and her tip toes grazed the plush red carpet underneath. She knew that she looked a tad ridiculous in the oversized chair, Malfoy had made his opinion very clear the last time he’d found her; late at night scribbling away on some pieces of parchment that could have definitely waited until the morning.

“Princess?” a voice from the door interrupted Hermione’s musing. She looked up to find Rowle standing there, his head tilted and a smile of amusement on his face.

“Morning,” she said, resting her head on her hands to look at him, “You alright?”

“That desk,” he laughed, taking a step into the room, “Is far too big for you.”

Hermione grinned and spread her arms out, “You think?”

“It’s more suited for a man of my size.” 

Hermione definitely could agree with that one, and the mental image of Rowle, in a suit, sitting in the chair, looking imposing, skittered across her mind.

“Can you even touch the edges of the desk from there?”

“You don’t need to-”

“So say if I was to do this,” Rowle grabbed her pen, the beautiful gold pen Luna had gifted to her last birthday, and placed it on the very left hand side of the desk, “Could you reach it?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. It certainly looked like it was too far, but maybe if she scooted over a little on the chair and-

“No,” she sighed defeatedly, “Probably not.”

“Try,” Rowle grinned, and she laughed, “Rowle, I can’t.”

Rowle picked up the pen and tossed it in the air, catching it with one hand, and leaning against the desk, staring her down.

“What  _ nowwww _ ?” Hermione turned so she was facing him.

“I was merely admiring the desk,” Rowle said, “It’s beautifully made.”

“Um, yes,” Hermione said, “It is. Harry thinks it might have been a Christmas present for one of Sirius’ ancestors, because-” she bent down underneath the desk and found the little carving on the underside, “There’s a date inscribed here.”

Rowle, intrigued, bent down so he too was peering from underneath, at the date carved into the wood of the desk.

“See, there,” Hermione said, “WBC, 25/12/43. We’re not sure what the WBC stands for, but-”

“Oh, that wasn’t a Christmas present,” Rowle chuckled, “Not in the sense you think.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione popped back up from under the desk, her eyes shining in the pursuit of new knowledge, staring down at Rowle, who was still running his fingers over the crude carving.

“You sure you want to know? Might ruin your love of this desk.”

Hermione nodded as Rowle sat on the floor, smirking up at her. 

“WBC means Wedding Bond Consummated.”

“What?”

“Wedding Bonds. It’s an old pureblood custom. You bond, and then you… complete the bond.”

“By having sex?” Hermione asked incredulously, taking a step back from the desk in disgust. Rowle grinned, “Pretty much. You forget Pureblood customs are similar to Muggle Victorian customs, sometimes even nowadays.”

“No sex before marriage, then?”

“And no alone time without a chaperone,” Rowle wiggled his eyebrows and Hermione laughed, “So their wedding day was the first time without a chaperone?”

“And you can imagine what they got up to.”

“On a desk, though?” Hermione said, offering a hand to Rowle as he pulled himself up from the ground. He almost immediately towered over her, and she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye when they were this close.  _ Shame really _ , her inner voice said,  _ quite enjoyed being the tall one in the relationship.  _

“I can assure you, Princess,” Rowle leaned closer to her, “Desks make an excellent surface for shagging on.”

Hermione blushed at what he was implying, “I-”

One of Rowle’s arms snaked round her waist, “You know, I realised last night I could be  _ nicer _ to you.”

“Nicer?” Hermione breathed, as Rowle excruciatingly slowly pulled her closer to him.

“Mmm, with us being married and all.”

“Engaged,” Hermione corrected, looking up at him with a blush staining her cheeks. Rowle rolled his eyes, “Pedant.”

“You were incorrect,” Hermione said and took a deep breath as Rowle ran a finger through her curled hair. He had turned her so her arse was leaning against the edge of the desk, one of his arms bracing the two of them, and the other curled around her waist, holding her indecently close to him. 

“Princess,” he said quietly, dropping the curl, “Can-”

They were rudely interrupted by a loud hoot. Rowle cursed, and dropped his arm, causing Hermione to fall back onto her desk, her arms collapsing under her.

“Shit, Granger, I-”

“Rowle, it’s okay,” she said, and Rowle stepped back to give her some space. The infamous owl was perched on her windowsill, a ministry stamped letter at its side.

“What do  _ they _ want?” Rowle asked petulantly.

“Not sure, honestly. It’s my week off.”

She took the letter from the owl, who hooted once more, and then took flight. Hermione rubbed her finger over the red ministry seal, and then broke it open.

“To whom it may concern…” Hermione scanned the letter and then gasped, “What?”

Rowle peered over her shoulder to read the letter as well, “Confirmed execution date of non-pardoned  _ Antonin P Dolohov _ \- what?”

Hermione turned the letter over in her hands, and then turned to face Rowle. His face was tense, a stony look in his face, and she was suddenly slightly aware of his size against hers, “Rowle…”

“Did you do this? Is this what you work for the ministry for?” he shouted, and Hermione flinched, as he continued, “You’re killing off my friends? That’s what I get, huh?”

“Rowle, no. Listen to me,” she pleaded, as he tore the letter out of her hand and read it again in frustration. Hermione grabbed one of his wrists and pulled it close to her.

“Rowle, Thorfinn, listen. Please.”

At the mention of his name, Rowle seemed to calm a little bit, but he ripped his arm out of Hermione’s grasp and fell back into the office chair, “You better have a damm good explanation for this, Princess.”

Hermione bit her lip and paced across to the other side of the room, “Well…”

Rowle folded his arms and stared at her. She came to a stop on the opposite side of the desk.

“Yes, I work for the ministry. Yes, I worked for… the Death Eater Rehabiliatation Unit.”

“You put me in the Muggle world.”

Hermione cringed at his cold tone, but continued, “I campaigned for you to… well, not be stuck in Azkaban… or worse. I put the Reformation Act through.”

Rowle raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“At the end of the war, your lot…well, the ones who didn’t win, were-”

“Tracked down and captured and put into  _ ‘temporary cells’ _ , yes,” Rowle said, “Then some were taken to Azkaban, some went and didn’t come back, and some were put on the first train out of there.”

“Yes, well, my unit went through every single person on… Voldemort’s side-” Rowle’s jaw tensed at the mention of his once-revered leader, “And decided whether they were fit for rehabilitation or not. Some got off easier than others,”

“Like Malfoy.”

“It did help he was shagging Harry at the time, and being the boyfriend of the Golden Boy did… help his case, so to speak. Anyways, we decided who could be reintroduced into Wizarding Society based on their performance in numerous mental tests, physical tests, memories, et cetera.”

“Yes, the lovely moment I had to get my memories searched. Do you know how painful and intense that is?”

“Yes.” Hermione said quietly, “They did it to me, too. After… after I was at the Manor.”

Rowle sat back in the office chair, and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“And one part I specifically put in, was to live in the Muggle world. On parole. Then means tested to be reintroduced into the Wizarding World.”

“A supposed reformed man.” Rowle ran a hand through his hair.

“Are you not a reformed man?” Hermione shot back.

“I’m engaged to you, Princess, I’m practically the poster child for reformation.”

Hermione hid a small smile behind her hand as she continued, “Many wizards went into the Muggle world and went missing. Couldn’t be contacted.”

“We were never contacted.”

Hermione blushed, “No, but an Auror was sent to check you were… where we put you, every so often. Maybe… a regular in your pub, or something like that.”

“You were spying on us?”

Hermione didn’t give a response, and Rowle sighed deeply, “So what about Antonin?”

“He was one of the wizards who disappeared off the map once placed in the Muggle world. There was a few, most of them were recaptured and were found to be… well, back to their old tricks. Yaxley was one of them.”

“Yaxley was a twisted old fool,” Rowle spat, “How did you let him out in the first place?”

Hermione shrugged, “There was only a few I personally sent out. One being Dolohov, and I know I never signed an execution warrant for him. Even now. Now he’s… missing.”

“Missing?”

“As I said, went off the map. Even our best Aurors can’t find him.”

Rowle pondered in thought for a minute, “What about the tattoos? Can you not track him through there?”

“I wasn’t involved in the makings or brandings of the tattoos,” Hermione explained, “Hence why I didn’t even realise you had them. Hell, I didn’t know they were part of the plan. I presume the team involved in them has already tried that.”

“So why ‘unpardon’ him?” Rowle said, quoting the letter which lay forgotten on the desk next to him.

“I didn’t,” Hermione said firmly, “Rowle, you have to believe me. I pardoned him, I sent him out into the Muggle world. I never, and will never, sign a death warrant for Antonin Dolohov.”

Rowle nodded, and got up from the chair. He outstretched his arms, and Hermione went towards him, her shoulders sagging. His large arms reached around her, pulling her tightly to his chest in the warmest embrace she’d ever felt. She burrowed her face into his chest and he rested his head on top of hers.

“I know you’ll fix this, Princess. You always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this.  
> interrupting owls, am i right?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in euan mcgregors voice) hello there!
> 
> anyways, I'm distracting myself from tasks I should be doing by writing yet more chapters of this. enjoy :)
> 
> lots of arguments in this chapter hehe

Hermione could have sworn it felt like  _ de ja vu  _ as she stormed through the Ministry once again, but this time she had a great big hulking Viking at her side, who was doing most of the scaring off. She heard whispers of people muttering things like ‘marriage law’ and ‘Death Eater’ and ‘ _ reformed _ Death Eater, Nigel, now be nice’. 

“Gertrude.” Hermione stopped in front of the secretary’s desk, and the mousy little woman’s face went white.

“Miss… Miss Granger, I-”

“Is Kingsley available? Just for a-” she gripped her fingers into her hand, “A quick chat.”

“He is just filing paperwork, Miss, but you should really have an appointment.”

“I know, Gertude, I’m sorry. But if stupid things didn’t keep happening I wouldn’t have to keep barging in here without an appointment.” Hermione sighed, and made her way into Kingsley’s office anyways. Rowle made a mental note to buy the poor secretary a gift basket when this was all done.

“Hermione,” Kingsley stood up as she entered, and he raised an eyebrow when Rowle followed her in, “And… Rowle.”

“Minister.” Rowle bobbed his head respectfully - he was brought up  _ properly _ \- and sat down on one of the chairs. Hermione, instead, remained standing and paced around the room, twirling her wand between her fingers.

“Is everything alright?” Kingsley said after a pause, glancing between the seemingly not-so-happy couple. Rowle shrugged and leaned back into his chair, gesturing at Hermione.

“Antonin Dolohov,” Hermione eventually said, coming to a stop behind Rowle’s chair. She rested her elbow on the back of his chair, and her head propped up with her hand. Her brown eyes bored into the back of Kingsley’s skull, “Tell me everything we know about him.”

Kingsley blinked, but complied, getting a document out of his desk drawer and clearing his chest, “Antonin Piotr Dolohov. Born 1st July, 1950. Active participant in both the First and Second Wizarding wars. Cleared of many crimes as under long-standing Imperious curse-”

“Wait, really?” Rowle interrupted.

“Yes, yes, we knew this,” Hermione said, absentmindedly patting Rowle on the head like a dog, and nodding to Kingsley to go on.

“Charged for participant in murders of Fabion and Gideon Prewitt and served in Azkaban between 1981 and 1996, although was discovered to have not cast the Killing Curse and therefore given a lighter sentence. Hermione, do you really want me to-”

“Kingsley, just read it. Please. Summarise if you have to.”

“Er, several curses fired in the Battle of Department of Mysteries, including one of his… own design which severely wounded and maimed… well, you.”

Rowle peered up at Hermione, who’s jaw had tensed, and he wondered what Antonin had done to her, and how the hell she’d still agreed to let him go.

“Fought for Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts, many curses fired, no deaths attributed to his wand, although a Mr Dean Thomas suffered similar scarring from a curse presumably the same as Miss Hermione Granger’s. After the Battle a thorough check of wand and mental state revealed Dolohov had been under a long-standing Imperious curse and took the Mark unwillingly.”

Rowle huffed, “Not sure many of us took it willingly, mind.”

“You’d be surprised,” Hermione mused.

“So… then what?” Rowle asked, “I’ve known him for a few years now, and it’s unlike him to have been killed. He was never one for engaging in fights unless provoked.”

“Dolohov was trialled, placed in protective custody, and then was deemed suitable for the Death Eater Reformation Program, which he was placed in a small town on the Yorkshire Moors, to which he promptly disappeared from.”

Hermione furrowed her brow, “So absolutely nothing in there mentions a second trial? Or new evidence which came to light?”

“Why do you ask?”

“The… execution.” Hermione finally fell into the chair next to Rowle, and sighed, “I-”

“Miss Granger,” Kingsley said, “If you’re feeling remorseful over signing that execution warrant-”

“I didn’t sign the warrant. Or the reversal of the pardon.”

“I understand if you feel regretful, being that your fiance has ties with-”

“Are you deaf, Minister, or just plain stupid?” Rowle slammed his hands on Kingsley’s desk, causing the man’s fingers to hover down to his wand-holster. Hermione settled a hand on Rowle’s thigh and he retreated back into his chair, folding his arms and jutting his chin out at Kingsley.

“Kings, I didn’t sign that. I haven’t been in work for a week, and why would I sign Dolohov’s reversal anyways? I had no reason to.”

Kingsley seemed in thought for a minute, and he scribbled something down with his quill.

“Hermione, I’m sure you understand your position in the Ministry.”

Hermione gave him a face and he sighed and continued, “The point is, if things are signed by you I usually don’t double-check them. They’re sent immediately to the department for which they’re headed.”

“Maybe we should stop trusting Granger so much,” Rowle joked, and Hermione elbowed him in the side.

“I was joking, Princess,” he muttered, as Kingsley continued writing things down on his parchment.

“Hermione, don’t worry,” Kingsley finally said, “I’ll look into it. I’ll send a message that any report you sign must come through me first. I’ll warn you though, it’ll mean routine things take longer to get done.”

“As long as I’m not signing away any more people’s lives, Kingsley, I don’t really mind if my annual tax report takes longer to file.”

Kingsley chuckled and stood up, his usual way of signifying the end of a consultation. Rowle followed suit, but Hermione stayed miserably sat in her chair.

“Granger, c’mon,” Rowle said, offering her a hand, which she reluctantly took.

Kingsley shook both of their hands in turn and then pressed a button which signalled Gertrude to open the door. 

“Don’t worry, Hermione. It’ll get sorted. I’ve put it top of my priorities,” he said with a smile, as Rowle and Hermione left the office.

“Sounded like a right politician there,” Rowle hissed, and Hermione cracked a small smile.

The problem with having a reformed Death Eater as a fiance, Hermione realised, is that he wasn’t able to access any of his Wizarding money. And boy, did Rowle have a lot of Wizarding money. Money, it seemed, he wanted to spend now.

“Granger, don’t be a bore,” Rowle said as they left Gringotts, where the goblins had happily accepted Rowle back without a mention of where he’d been, “Let me take you out to dinner.”

“Surely there’s more pressing things at mind than a meal out,” Hermione retorted.

“It’ll be Italian. And I’ll buy you wine.”

“Deal.”

Rowle tucked Hermione into his side as they weaved through the busy streets of Diagon Alley. Hermione supposed it wasn’t half bad, as it was cold, and he was warm, and large, and she didn’t get bustled out of the way as often. 

“Princess, stop thinking for just one second,” Rowle laughed, “I can practically hear your cogs whirring from here.”

Hermione scowled as she looked up at him, and thought about poking him in the side, but restrained herself as they arrived in front of the restaurant Rowle had picked out.

“ _ La Bella Magia _ ?” Hermione hissed, “Rowle, this place is expensive!”

“All the best for my fiancee,” Rowle replied smugly, and Hermione pulled on his arm to stop him from walking in.

“Rowle, I’m serious. This place is only ever full of celebrities and the rich and wealthy.”

“Well,” Rowle pretended to think for a minute, then jovially pulled her closer to the door, “Good thing  _ you’re _ a celebrity, and _ I’m _ rich and wealthy.”

Hermione decided complaining was futile as she quickly transfigured her normal daywear into something a little nicer for the occasion. Rowle glanced back and his eyes gleamed to see her in a small black cocktail dress and a pair of strappy silver sandals.

“Excellent idea, Princess, now do me.”

Hermione changed his checkered shirt into a perfectly pressed red shirt, and his jeans into black dress trousers. Rowle grimaced at the red.

“Really? Gryffindor red?”

“If you get me in a dress, I get you in red,” Hermione said, as they walked through the doors of the far-too-expensive restaurant. 

The maitre’d and the rest of the wait staff seemed far too happy to have a war hero amongst their patrons that night, and the couple’s starters and wine were on the house. Rowle greedily attacked his pizza as he looked around.

“You were right about the celebrities, Granger, that’s Darren O’Hare.”

“I’d pretend to know who he was, but…” Hermione grinned as she wove her fork around her spaghetti. 

“Professional Quidditch player, Granger, come on.”

“Oh, then I don’t care,” Hermione replied cheekily as she took a swig of wine. Rowle simply rolled his eyes. They were almost finished their mains, and the two of them had been enjoying a lovely evening, discussing their childhoods and their favourite things to do, and he almost forgot he was sitting in a restaurant where he was most definitely the topic of conversation of the tables around him. A war heroine and a Death Eater, even if reformed, were not exactly the most usual pair. But with the Ministry’s new regulated marriage law, it was looking like it was going to be a more normal sight.

“Hermione!” came a screech from across the restaurant, and Rowle looked to see his witch grimace in pain, before plastering on a fake smile.

“Lavender,” she greeted politely, and Rowle almost choked on the wave of perfume that hit him. The witch was dressed in a obscenely pink, tight minidress that accentuated the baby bump - well, he  _ presumed _ it was a baby bump - on her stomach, and her hair was coiled into a bun on her head. Following shortly behind the witch was a man he didn’t enjoy the presence of.

“Oh, and Ron. Hello,” Hermione said, “And, er, congratulations.”

Ron flushed, and Lavender placed a hand on her stomach and smiled, “Baby number four is on its way,” she gushed. 

Ron cleared his throat, “So, Hermione, er, who is this?”

Hermione shot Rowle a look that was clearly a sign to shut up, and she smiled politely back up at the lanky ginger.

“This, Ron, is Thorfinn Rowle. My… fiance.”

“Your WHAT?” Ron bellowed, causing the tables near them to turn around and tut. Rowle was using all of his willpower to concentrate on anything but the ginger bastard. 

“My fiance, Ron, didn’t you hear?”

“Oh, I think I read about it in Witch Weekly, actually,” Lavender said, “Hmm, yes, the war heroine finally settling down. About time, don’t you think?”

“I-” Hermione interjected, but Lavender continued.

“Oh,” Lavender seemed to notice Rowle for the first time, and she appraised him with a tilt of her head, “I suppose it’s a Ministry regulated match then, Hermione? Or have you got a thing for… war criminals?”

Hermione kicked Rowle under the table, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Yes, Lavender. We were matched through the Ministry, but actually... it’s not a bad thing.” Hermione hid a grin as she took Rowle’s hand in a sickening display of affection, “We’re showing the Wizarding World it can be done.”

Rowle nodded tightly, and Ron scoffed.

“So what, you couldn’t find a man on your own? C’mon, Mione, didn’t think you’d stoop this low. Have your standards dropped that much?”

“Actually, Weasley, I’d say her standards have improved,” Rowle said gruffly.

“Why you little-” Ron suddenly stopped whatever he was about to say as Rowle stood up and drew himself up to his full height. Hermione didn’t notice the way Lavender ducked behind Ron, or the way Ron’s shoulders sagged a little bit as the imposing Viking loomed over him.

“Rowle…” Hermione warned, but with no actual meaning in her tone. Instead she finished off her pasta and carefully sipped her wine.

“Say what you were going to say, Weasley, I’m listening.”

“What I’m saying,” Ron said, drawing himself up to his full height as well, “Is that Hermione can do  _ so _ much better than you.”

“Oh really? I’d say I’m better than many of the men she’s dated. Including you, you ginger prick.”

Hermione stifled a giggle and reluctantly got up. 

“Ron, Row- Thorfinn, just sit down.”

Rowle seemed to calm and went to sit down again before Ron muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Rowle demanded.

“I said,” Ron spat back, “Death Eater scum.”

Now you would think, after being friends primarily with boys for the majority of her life, that Hermione wouldn’t be affected by a string of curses. But she was pretty sure what came out of Rowle’s mouth would make even Seamus blush.

“And-” Rowle said, grabbing Hermione into his side, “I can guarantee I’m a better fuck than you’ll ever be.”

Just as Hermione was about to give her two cents, the familiar whoosh of Apparation landed the two of them back in their drawing room.

“Rowle! You can’t go around arguing with-”

Rowle had gone white as a sheet, and had sat down in the armchair in the corner of the room.

“Rowle, what’s… oh my-”

“I apparated. Granger… fuck, I apparated. How did I do that?”

Hermione fell back into the sofa in astonishment, “You can’t do magic.”

“Clearly I bloody can, Princess, I brought us back here.”

The two stared at each other, before Hermione finally giggled and said, “You called him a ginger bastard.”

Rowle raised a singular eyebrow in amusement, “Amongst other things.”

“I can’t believe you did that. In a restaurant! You said… oh god… you said-” Hermione put her head in her hands.

“What?” Rowle said, biting back a laugh.

“You said you were a better fuck than he’d ever be.”

“Was I wrong?” Rowle said, waggling his eyebrows as he launched himself at her, landing on the sofa next to her.

“Rowle…” she moaned as he almost crushed her, “Oh Merlin, the whole world is going to know by tomorrow.”

“It’ll make one hell of a headline, Princess.”

Hermione regretted drinking so much the night before at exactly 10:21am, when she heard singing -  _ motherfucking singing _ \- coming from the kitchen. She had very little idea how she’d managed to get into bed, but now she begrudgingly pulled herself out of it and wandered downstairs. Rowle was singing along to a Weird Sisters song as he cooked pancakes the Muggle way.

“Rowle… what…”

“Morning, Princess!”

“How are you not… affected?”

“Well for one,” Rowle tapped his chin with the spatula, “I’m not a lightweight. And two-” he chucked a vial at her, “Sober-up potion exists.”

Hermione gratefully downed the foul-tasting liquid and the pressure in her head disappeared. 

“Did you actually apparate last night?” she finally asked as Rowle plated up their breakfasts. His face twitched.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “Could have. Maybe you did and didn’t notice.”

“I was far too drunk to apparate,” Hermione admitted, “You bought me four bottles of wine.”

“So I did then.” Rowle shrugged, “Merlin knows how.”

Hermione pondered over her pancakes for a minute, and then grinned, “Research time!”

Rowle groaned.

Two and a half hours later, in the library, Hermione was surrounded by books and parchment and yet more books. 

“Princess? Are you in there?”

Hermione’s head popped up from behind a stack of books, her wild hair tossed up into a messy bun on top of her head, and a pencil - not a quill, they were highly inefficient, she thought - tucked behind her ear. Rowle gave a small shake of his head and brought over the two mugs he was carrying.

“Green tea. Helps the brain, or whatever,” he said, pushing the mug towards Hermione, who accepted it with a small smile. 

“Get anywhere?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose, “Well, I got partially somewhere, and then got sidetracked reading about the Goblin Rebellion of 1752. Did you know that it was presumed that the Minister for Magic at the time, Albert Boot, was actually killed by a rampage of goblins after he resigned? He was never seen after his resignation!”

“That’s wonderful, Granger, but… magic?” Rowle settled into the chair next to her and tapped on one of the parchments she had in front of her.

“Hmm, yeah,” Hermione said, picking up a smaller book and flicking to its index, “The only things I can seem to find is Magical Children having outbursts when they’re young, or Squibs suddenly having magical outbursts when in dangerous situations. Presumably something to do with a burst of adrenaline… but I’m not sure.”

Rowle settled back into his chair and watched as Hermione flicked through books, poured over passages and made notes with her pencil - an invention he truly praised the Muggles for - and occasionally sipped her tea. He picked up a thinner book he definitely thought he could manage, and began to read. He heard Hermione yawn, and she leant into his side.

“Tired, Princess?”

“My eyes hurt,” she complained, and rested herself against him. He chuckled, and adjusted her so she was lying flat along the chairs, her head in his lap. She frowned.

“That’s not what I was intending.”

“Works, though. You’re comfy. I’m comfy.”

In all honesty, he was more than comfy, as the small witch gave a deep sigh and closed her eyes. She looked peaceful, even graceful, her hair falling out of its bun. He reached down and snapped the hair tie holding it back, letting her mane fan out around her head. She cracked one eye open and regarded him curiously.

“Wha-”

“Nicer this way,” he said simply, and Hermione, seemingly exhausted from her research, snuggled down further and drifted into a peaceful sleep. Rowle’s hands found her hair - quite of their own accord, he told himself - and he gently twisted one of her curls around his finger, and found himself re-reading the same passage over and over. It was almost as if something was taking his attention away from the task at hand. Something small, and warm, and altogether far too perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review and give me your thoughts! I heard your reviews that Hermione was being a bit mean to Thorfinn so I thought I'd show you a little bit of progression in their relationship. Also La Bella Magia is an awful google translate version of 'The Beautiful Magic' which makes no grammatical sense, but sounded like an Italian restaraunt name.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo  
> This chapter is kind of a filler chapter, there's some plotline but not much because honestly I wrote this at 8.30am before a maths test and decided it would do.  
> I then promptly forgot about it because I have the mind of a goldfish.  
> Anyways, voila.   
> Hope you enjoy :)

Sunday mornings were always Hermione’s favourite. They were sleepy and warm, and you could snuggle up on the sofa with a mug of tea until 11am and nobody would fault you for it. Especially if you were snuggling into something equally sleepy and warm. 

Hermione looked up from where she was tucked into Rowle’s side. The two of them had an unspoken agreement now that they would just be close - nothing sexual, nothing weird, she told herself - just intimate and physical. Wherever Rowle sat down, Hermione would tuck herself into him, and wherever Hermione could be found, Rowle wouldn’t be far behind. 

This particular morning Hermione had set aside to watch her new favourite film. Pride and Prejudice had hit the cinemas a year ago and she had instantly fallen in love with the movie of the book she’d loved as a child. Unfortunately, Rowle didn’t seem to share the same affinity for it, and had fallen asleep about forty minutes in. Hermione wasn't really that worried though, because his chest worked perfectly as a pillow, in her opinion. Although, she was starting to get neck cramp from the odd angle.

“Rowle…” she said, stretching her legs behind her, “Wake upppp.”

Rowle groaned and tightened his arm around her, “Only if that ridiculous tripe has been turned off.”

Hermione would have given him a proper response, possibly outlining the benefits of reading (or watching) feminist classics, when the familiar sound of the Floo activating came through from the drawing room.

“You should have a lock on that,” Rowle grumbled, “Anyone could come in.”

“It’s charmed so only those with good intentions can get in,” Hermione replied, wriggling her way from under Rowle’s arm, “I’ll go see who-”

“Hermione?” the voice sounded unsure, but it was a man. Not Harry or Ron, though, they rarely used the Floo. They preferred to just apparate right in and scare the living shit out of her. Harry had almost once caught her naked in her library, but they both silently agreed to never speak of it again. _Ever._

“Hello?” Hermione opened the door to the living room and peered out into the hallway. Theo Nott was standing there, wringing his hat in his hands, and looking rather ashamed.

“Who is it?” Rowle asked from the sofa, and Hermione shut the door and stepped out into the hallway with a noncommittal, “Oh, no-one.”

“Hermione, I-”

“Nott,” Hermione cut him off, and he cringed at her use of his last name, “What are you doing here? Is Ginny okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine-”

“Then what else could you possibly want,” she said, sounding a bit sharper than maybe she meant to, “Considering your… attitude towards myself and my fiance last time you were here.”

Theo sighed, and leant against a chest of drawers in the hallway, “I came to apologise.”

“Apologise, huh?” Rowle said from the doorway of the living room. He was listening in, as usual, “That’s unusual for a brat like you.”

“Rowle!” Hermione admonished, but Theo let out a nervous laugh instead.

“I acted out of line. I’m not sure what it was… possibly the wine, possibly something else, but...”

Hermione completely ignored whatever else he said in his grovelling apology, although she did hear something about a takeout Chinese, as her brain immediately went into overdrive. There had to be a connection here - between raised tensions between a usually friendly group of people, accidental magic, people acting unusually, Rowle’s mood changes…. Rowle.

“Rowle, take off your shirt.”

Both men stared at her, and Theo coughed in surprise.

“I mean,” Hermione hastily said, “Your tattoo. Can I take another look at it… while Theo is here.”

Rowle shook his head in confusion, before taking off his shirt - revealing his  _ gorgeous _ chest, the bad bit of her brain reminded her - and displaying his tattoo. Theo had the decency to look elsewhere.

“It’s moving,” Hermione said, tracing her fingers over it, causing Rowle to tense, “Theo, take a step towards him.”

As Theo complied, the tattoo pulsed harder, and shined brighter than it had before. It was vibrating slightly on Rowle’s chest, and was almost dancing around.

“It’s your magic. It’s my magic…. There’s something not quite right.”

“What do you mean, Princess?” 

“Your tattoo… I think it's how you managed Apparation. It leeches magic from other people.”

“Hold on,” Theo said, “You apparated? With that thing?”

Rowle grinned proudly.

“It took my magic to apparate you. That’s why I felt so shit the morning after.”

“You were also drunk,” Rowle gently reminded her.

Hermione scowled, and Theo bit back a laugh.

“Magic is linked to emotions, we all know that. You had high emotions when we were in the restaurant.”

“I’m so glad Potter used his Boy Wonder status to revoke that article,” Rowle mused, and Hermione giggled. 

“I need to do some research,” she finally announced. Rowle rolled his eyes and pointed at Theo, “You can use him. I’m not being roped into that again.”

Rowle wasn’t jealous of Theo - no, he really wasn’t - but a small twinge of jealousy may have briefly crossed his mind when he spotted Hermione and Theo in the library together, researching and laughing and generally looking like they were actually enjoying themselves. He knew Hermione was warming up to him - she stuck to his side most days, and teased him goodnaturedly, and didn’t flinch when he rested his head on her shoulder, or his arm on her waist. It felt like they were just getting somewhere in this sham of a relationship, finally. 

“Rowle!” Theo called, beckoning him in from where he stood, contemplating, in the doorway, “How many others do you know with the tattoo?”

“Do you not have one?” Rowle asked, perching on the chair next to his witch, and Hermione frowned, “I never thought about that.”

Theo shook his head, “I was threatened with one, but as I was never actually marked, they decided there wasn’t enough information to charge me properly. Also... I made a rather large donation to Hogwarts just after the battle.” He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair at the reveal of this fact.

“So you got off scot-free?” Rowle tried not to scowl, but when Hermione lightly slapped his arm, he knew he had been, and tried to regain a neutral expression. She didn’t move her hand as she spoke.

“Theo was harassed for months after… well, everything, and so was Draco. At least Draco had Harry to help.”

“So the Malfoy kid doesn’t have one either? He was definitely marked.”

“Yes,” sighed Hermione, “And he was also shagging Harry. Which sort of helped.”

Rowle raised an eyebrow at Hermione and grinned, “So, theoretically, if I’d been shagging you-”

“Anyways,” Theo coughed, “Others with the tattoo?”

“Dolohov, I suppose,” Rowle nodded at Hermione, “Anyone else she decided could be rehabilitated.”

“Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey,” Hermione said, and Theo diligently wrote on a piece of paper as she thought, “Blaise Zabini definitely had one, but I think his was modified as he chose to stay in the Muggle world. He was stripped of magic entirely, and obliviated I believe. There’s no way we could contact him without pissing off the Ministry somehow.”

“I’m not sure there’s anyway we can contact them without pissing off the Ministry,” Theo sighed, “Pucey is working for them now, Flint’s in Azkaban, and Dolohov is currently Undesirable Number One.”

“Flint’s in Azkaban?” Rowle said, turning his attention away from Hermione’s fingers, which were absentmindedly rubbing circles on his arm.

“He refused to meet his match.”

Rowle considered it for a moment, and Hermione leaned in and whispered so only he could hear, “See, when you think about it, I’m not all that bad.” He rolled his eyes in response and leaned back in his chair.

“Surely you two could go speak to Flint. Or, at least Her- Granger could,” he said, cursing himself for stumbling over his words. Only Theo had noticed it seemed, raising an eyebrow in the way only born-and-bred Slytherins seemed to know how. 

“What do you say, Hermione,” Theo said, “Azkaban?”

Hermione scrunched up her face and ran a hand through her hair, seemingly not caring as it bounced back three times bigger than it had been before. 

“Fine. I’ll go tomorrow, with some bullshit excuse about the Rehabiliation scheme and everything.”

“Meanwhile, if I could borrow some of these books on magical tattoos, I’ll do some research while you’re away. I can use Draco’s library to cross-reference, and I might even set up a dinner with Adrian Pucey,” Theo explained, gathering books and parchment. He waved his wand and summoned his cloak.

“You’re off, then?” Rowle said, stretching and placing his arm around the back of Hermione’s chair - possibly one of the oldest tricks in the book, but Hermione simply smiled and leaned her head against it as she waved goodbye to Theo.

“I’ll see you later, Hermione. Rowle.” Theo nodded and apparated away.

Hermione always forgot how damm  _ cold _ Azkaban was. After the war, the dementors had been banished, and only a few remained locked in the dank cells below the Ministry for ‘research’ purposes. Hermione was pretty sure they were there for soul-sucking purposes, but didn’t really want to interfere. They weren’t very nice after all.

Azkaban was now run by a team of highly-skilled guards, trained and led by specialist Aurors. Dean Thomas was one of them, and he greeted her at the gate as the wind howled around them. 

“Hermione!” he shouted, waving madly, his uniform rippling in the wind, “Over here!”

Hermione battled her way across the wind, clutching her folder close to her chest, and immediately sighed in relief as she stepped past one of the wards. The wind instantly died down, but the cold seeped into her bones, and she shivered.

“Dean,” she said, smiling warmly at the tall man in Auror clothes in front of him, “You got a promotion?”

Dean blushed, and nodded, “Extra stripe on the epaulets,” he grinned, “Not much else to say for it.”

“I’m glad you were able to meet me,” Hermione explained as he buzzed her through the great iron doors which were the entrance to the prison, “I wasn’t really a fan of navigating this place alone.”

“There’s some nasty people here,” Dean agreed, “But most of them are in our Lifer cells, quite far away from any of the visitation cells. The worst you’ll probably see is a drunken man selling illegal potions.”

Hermione laughed. Azkaban had lost some of its most renowned and feared prisoners, like Bellatrix, and had gained a few Petty Crimes cells instead. People would often be sent to Azkaban for only a few weeks, and she was sure the pure cold of it would put her off committing any other crimes ever again. Not like she was one for committing crimes. 

“It’s Marcus Flint I’m here to see, actually,” she said, as she signed in on the register, and pulled her cloak around her tighter, “He’s here for-”

“Refusal of the Marriage Law,” Dean finished for her, “We’ve got a few of them.”

Dean led her through winding corridors, past cells that were glamoured and charmed so she couldn’t see in, and she was certain the prisoners couldn’t see out. He opened a door to a room, where a dirty-looking Marcus Flint was sitting, magically cuffed to the table, and he glared at her as she shuffled into the room.

“Flint,” she said, by way of greeting. Dean nodded to her and she shut the door, smiling politely at the scowling Slytherin.

“What do you want?” he said sharply.

“I’m here to speak to you about your tattoo,” she said, opening her folder and pointing to a photo of Rowle’s tattoo that she’d printed out, in case Flint’s looked different.

“You mean the one that stops me from doing magic?” 

“Er, yes. That one.”

“The one that reduces me to nothing but a filthy muggle?” Flint spat, and Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“If I were you, Flint, I’d watch your tone. You forget-”

“How could I forget? Pretty little Princess Granger, come to save the day once again. If this is about that blasted Ravenclaw bint, I’m not marrying her.”

Hermione sat silently, appraising Flint. He was clearly agitated, and maybe thought he didn’t deserve to be in prison. She couldn’t remember whether he’d fought in the Battle of Hogwarts or not, but bearing in mind he wasn’t marked, she presumed he’d been hidden away with the rest of the Slytherins down in their common room.

“Well?” Flint pressed, “I’m not marrying-”

“Penelope Clearwater, I know,” Hermione sighed, “She’s not exactly upset about your refusal, Flint, but she did have to go through a particularly nasty trial to make sure this wasn’t a collusion between you two.”

“Why isn’t she here then?” Flint grumbled, and Hermione understood why he was so upset. He believed Penelope should be confined to Azkaban as well, as she had not married with the law either. Unfortunately for him, he was tattooed.

“The tattoo means that this is part of your parole. If you decline, you break parole. And you end up here.”

“So everyone else gets a choice?” Flint’s face started to mellow, and rather than angry, he just looked defeated.

“Believe me,” Hermione gave him a small smile, “Not everyone.”

Flint cocked his head, regarding Hermione seriously, before leaning forward and nodding at the photo in the file, “You sure that’s the tattoo?”

“Yes…” Hermione said slowly.

“Mine doesn’t look like that. That line,” he tried to nod with his head, and Hermione untied his shackles with a wave of her hand. He looked surprised for a minute, flexed his fingers, and pointed at one of the curling lines coming out the top of the tattoo, “That line doesn’t exist on mine. Mine ends here.”

“Yours is different?”

“And this extra curve at the bottom doesn’t exist.”

“That’s the rune for change,” Hermione said.

“I failed Ancient Runes,” Flint said with a shrug of his shoulders, and Hermione considered this new information.

“So yours doesn’t have parts that are the same as Rowle’s…”

Flint gave a little snort, “Rowle? As in Thorfinn Rowle…. Merlin’s balls.”

“What?” Hermione said, maybe a little too defensively.

Flint leered at her and waved his eyebrows suggestively, “There was lots of talk when we were back in school that he bedded the most witches in one year, than anyone else  _ ever _ .”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Well, he’s my fiance, so hopefully he’s not bedding witches now.”

A flicker of shock graced Flint’s features, and then he resumed his normal expression of mild disgust. 

“Can I take a copy of your tattoo?” Hermione asked, and Flint obliged. He took off his shirt, and Hermione hit him with a cleansing charm, which he grumbled at her for, and then took a magical copy of his tattoo. It certainly looked similar to Rowle’s, but if you looked carefully you would spot subtle differences. That, and the fact it wasn’t glowing or pulsing like Rowle’s did. 

“I’ll have to come back and properly analyse the differences, probably when I get clearance to bring Rowle with me,” she mused, and then folded away her things. She pretended not to notice Flint’s expression sadden for a bit.

“Just a heads up, Flint,” she said, as she prepared to leave, “Your parole officer might be looking into your case again soon. If you could, for example, find some evidence that this is the only break of the parole rules you’ve done, you might be able to change your sentence. Just… a thought.”

And with that, she marched back through the prison and home to a nice warm cup of tea.

Brunch with Harry and Draco was a semi-regular affair in Hermione’s life. Brunch with Harry, Draco, and Rowle was not a regular affair, and she was beginning to see why. The booth seemed crowded with Rowle’s large body pressed against her, and Draco seemed unimpressed when the waitress politely told him they were out of blueberry syrup. Harry had spent most of his time glaring at Rowle, and Rowle hadn’t exactly been all smiles in return. The conversation was stiff, and sore topics repeatedly kept being pulled up.

“Granger, have you gained weight?” Draco said, narrowing his eyes, “Are you  _ pregnant _ ?”

“No, Malfoy,” Hermione said tiredly, “No children yet.”

“We’re still the godparents, right?” Harry said, taking a sip of his drink.

“There is no way you are being godparent of my child,” Rowle scoffed loudly, and Harry glared at him.

Before Harry could start an argument, Hermione quickly butted in, “So, have you heard any Ministry rumours about the tattoos?”

Harry and Draco exchanged glances, and Harry looked around the restaurant, checking who was within earshot, before leaning in.

“They say,” he whispered conspiratorially, “That someone changed them last minute. Several approvals for edited tattoos went out mere hours before they were done.”

“Someone changed the tattoos?” Rowle said, taking a bite of French toast, “Why?”

“You’re not exactly the most well-liked people in Wizarding Britain right now, Rowle.” Malfoy raised a perfectly-manicured eyebrow at the hulking blond.

“I could say the same for you too,” Rowle shot back.

“Mmm, Harry evens it out,” Draco said, sticking a kiss to Harry’s cheek, making him blush. Hermione smiled at the display of affection but her heart ached.

“Now, this gossip is coming from Rita whose in Centaur Relations,” Harry said, rolling his eyes a little, “And while she’s one to exaggerate the truth, she might be a little right. She says that if you looked into all of the changed tattoos, they’re for people whose matches caused controversy in the papers.”

“Like us?” Hermione said, not-so-fondly remembering the headline of ‘ _ Golden Girl Forced Into Arranged Marriage With Convict! _ ’

“Yes, Granger,” Draco huffed, “Do you not remember the seven proposals you got in one day?”

“Seven proposals?” Rowle turned to Hermione in shock. 

Hermione smiled sheepishly, “People didn’t want me marrying you.”

“Who were they from?” he said, and Hermione knew that look on his face all too well.

“I’m not telling you, because you’d go to their houses and beat the shit out of them.”

Rowle harrumphed, pouting because his plan had been discovered, and Hermione rubbed his arm affectionately. She’d not been too impressed with Terry Boot’s sudden display of devotion either, but she also didn’t want to set his house on fire in retaliation.

“So people have been editing tattoos… for what? The marriage still went ahead, so what was the point?” Draco pointed out, stabbing a pancake viciously.

“Not sure,” Hermione said, “Maybe there’s long-term effects we haven’t seen yet?”

“A repulsion charm?” Harry said, his tone not quite hiding the excitement in his voice.

“She still  _ loves _ me, Potter,” Rowle said, squishing Hermione into his side, and she laughed. Harry made a fake retching sound, and Malfoy muttered something about love and children and ‘ _ I swear to Merlin, if Weaselbee becomes a godparent before me, I’m going to murder something.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, side Drarry is one of my favourite pairings to read about. Snarky Draco, blushing Harry, it's got it all. Also, do you reckon Draco would be a good godparent or not? Hmm...  
> Gonna try to move Hermione & Thorfinn's relationship forward a bit next chapter, they're a bit too much like slightly-flirting-roommates for me atm.   
> Please review, it'll make me smile :)


End file.
